


Don't turn away now

by Tita



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Blow Jobs, Breaking and Entering, Grinding, Kidnapping, M/M, Sexual Tension, Slight love/hate at the beginning, powers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4750721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tita/pseuds/Tita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If a year ago you’d told Harry he’d team up with a gang of semi-criminal mutants to save his ass and the world while falling in love, he would’ve laughed in your face but, alas, it’s exactly what he’s done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't turn away now

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is a terribly self indulgent fic. It's basically a mix of what I love to see in people's fics, plus a real challenge for me since I never write things this long and it took my almost a year. So, a huge thanks to the barrage of people I pestered through the many months of whining, and a special mention to every beta that helped me make it into something readable.  
> Also, Zayn's in this fic because I started writing before he left. If he being in it bothers you, consider skipping this one.  
> Title from 'Warriors' by Imagine Dragons.  
> I do not own One Direction or anything of that sort (unfortunately).

As Harry hands in the test and exits the classroom, a wave of relief washes over him, his mind no longer invaded by inexplicable nerves. They had hit him as soon as he had stepped into the building, anxiety creeping up on the otherwise tranquil thoughts he’d been having. It had intensified as the papers had been distributed, and by the time he was supposed to be tackling the first questions, every single one of his thoughts was interrupted by a foreign nervous current.

He could tell the feelings were not his own by how they were just like all the others, in toxic groups as they crept up on him despite his ongoing efforts to ignore them. Each question had been harder to answer than the previous as the anxiety shifted while time went on, defeat but also confidence being added to the mix. It all made for a very confused Harry, who tried to write as fast as possible and to somehow think when most of his brain was a muddled mess.

It was not the first time this had happened, but it had been the strongest. All the previous ones had been mere hints of moods, maybe a slight pang of sadness as he rode the tube or a shock of excitement as a movie started. This one was different, more invasive and deeper than all the others, and though Harry knew it was most likely him imagining things, he couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that it might be something more.

Shaking his head at himself for getting too caught up in his thoughts, Harry checks his phone and smiles at the text from his mom reminding him of their skype date. He vaguely recalls also making plans with Ed, but he’s so tired he makes a mental note to call him later and heads to his car, thanking the heavens that the class is done for the week. It’s not a very important one, just something he’s taking so that his year off is not just working at a bakery and trying to find a profession he’s not bored with after a while. His mother seems to find him taking class exciting, so he figures it’s alright.

The parking lot is mostly deserted, the football team practicing on the adjacent field making almost all of the noise as he gets to his car. Harry’s planning on just starting it and leaving, but when he unlocks the door and gets in, he lets out a startled scream.

_There are people in his car._

The seat next to the driver’s is occupied by what his mind instantly tells him must be a delinquent--shaggy hair and arms marked by several tattoos, accompanied by a frighteningly attractive smirk.

“Hello,” he greets, and Harry swears loudly, afraid and startled and very, very confused as to how on Earth he finds a thief attractive right now. The thief’s face scrunches up as he does so, and he seems annoyed at Harry, for some reason.

“Please don’t do that,” Thief asks almost politely and Harry loses all hopes of making sense of the situation now. Isn’t he supposed to have a gun? Ask for the keys? _Something_ but stare at Harry?

“What-” Harry starts, stopping himself in order to change the tone to something more submissive, because he doesn’t really feel like getting shot today. “I’ll give you the keys but please don’t shoot me.”

He says this while he holds his hands in front of him, open in what he hopes is enough of a sign that he won’t fight, and is so scared that when the criminal starts laughing, he doesn’t fully register it.

It’s not a slight laugh, though, it just goes on and on, the man (boy?) throwing his head back and shaking with it. It’s not until a new voice comes that Harry tears his eyes off him to find he is not the only maybe-thief in Harry’s car.

“We’re not gonna rob you, mate!” A blonde says in an Irish accent from where he is squished between what is possibly a Gucci model and a professional bodybuilder in the back seat. Harry’s given up on life, by now.

“You’re not?” He manages to ask, registering that at least he won’t be killed but still more confused than he has ever been.

“Nah,” Irish replies again as the whole population currently in Harry’s car laughs. “Well unless you have some weed which in that case…”

He then proceeds to wiggle his eyebrows while the now possibly-thief in the seat next to Harry’s interrupts, voice authoritative.

“Okay, _enough_ Niall,” he instructs, rolling his eyes before facing Harry, “The poor boy is ready to shit bricks over here.”

Harry’s more perplexed than alarmed now, but he doesn’t correct the pretty not-thief, instead choosing to pay attention to what happens next because who knows what it might be. Harry may have inadvertently gone into a dimension where hot people and their gang appear randomly, and he’s not too sure where he stands on that.

“You need to come with us.”

It’s said just like that, a final statement with no question or explanation, words startling Harry as they come out of whoever the unpredictable guy in the adjacent seat is. Harry’s eyebrows shoot right up, and the part of his brain that had been previously shut up by the apparent friendliness of the intruders flares up, reminding him that these are _strangers who broke into his car._

“What?” He asks, trying to keep his racing mind from jumping to thoughts of kidnapping.

The crazy not-thief sighs. “What’s so hard to get? _Come with us now!”_

He says it like it’s a logical thing, that Harry will blindly follow this _gang_ of ratty looking teens that somehow got hold of a model and are now in his car. Illegally. Harry may be too trustful of people, but he’s not downright stupid.

“Uh, no,” Harry answers, trying not to be too forceful, but firm. He can probably take at least two of them, right? “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

There’s a second of silence as not-thief seems surprised and the ones in the back watch him expectantly, Harry’s fear rising with every silent breath he takes. Finally, the silence is broken by the very same surprised maybe-maybe-not thief.

“He’s an idiot, I’m out.”

What follows the statement is a wild eye roll, exaggerated and oddly offensive as Thief then proceeds to slump in his seat as if defeated. Harry turns around in time to catch the nod that Irish gives to the muscular guy; it’s Muscles who then speaks, his words also coming after a sigh.

“You promised you’d behave,” he scolds, brown eyes fixed on the annoyed not-thief, finger pointed at him. Harry gets the idea that this has happened before, this whole scenario, and it’s strangely reassuring.

After receiving another huff, Muscles turns to Harry, finger still accusingly held up. “And _you_ bro, should really reconsider. It’s not safe for you to be out here.”

And there it is, the reason Harry has been waiting for, except that it’s not satisfactory at all.

“Out here...in the school I attend every week?” Harry double checks, wondering again if this is all a joke. “Makes perfect sense.”

There’s a part of him that warns him that sarcasm may not be the best choice, but he can’t help it, internally scoffing at just how absurd this can all get. He doesn’t mean to offend anyone, much less possibly mentally unstable delinquents, but it’s hard not to laugh at the idea that someone would want to harm Harry. He may well be the least interesting human around - well, apart from the occasional feeling-sensing problem - and there is no way anyone would want to come for him. _Absolutely_ none, which kind of makes the strangers in his car a much more problematic situation.

“Yeah, mate,” Muscles insists, brown eyes somehow soft as they stare into Harry’s. “ _Trust me,_ you don’t want to be alone for the next few days.”

Harry thinks he hears the occupant of the seat next to him scoff at the word ‘days’ but his attention is elsewhere, brain occupied in coming up with an escape.

“I think I’ll risk it,” is what he settles on, the perfect balance of the NO he wants to scream and the niceness he needs to not get abducted by crazy vandals. “Thanks, though.”

Model, who’s been slumping against the seat, shrugs and opens the door, taking out a cigarette and talking while it dangles from his lips. “He’s not coming, so,” he explains before exiting the car, the sound of his lighter punctuating his words.

“Suit yourself,” Irish adds before following, his head disappearing for a moment before popping back in. “Oh and your nachos are gone, sorry!”

With that, Harry’s car is only left with himself, Muscles and Not-thief . How lovely.

It doesn’t last for long though, an annoyed Not-thief pressing his lips into a thin line before waving off with “Your call” and climbing out.

Then it’s just Harry and Muscles, the latter tsk-ing and glancing at the door before looking straight into Harry’s eyes again.

“Take care, yeah?” He says, shoulders deflated. Harry nods, and Muscles reaches for the door, hand curved around the handle for a second before he lets go of it, turning around again and taking a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“It’s my number,” he explains, taking out Harry's hand and closing his fingers around it. “Just in case.”

Harry’s then left to stare dumbfoundedly as Muscles turns towards the door and literally walks through it, leg disappearing through the _solid metal_ of his door and the rest of his body following. When nothing more of him can be seen, Harry thinks he hears a tinkling laugh, but he’s just seen a person walk through a door, so he can’t be too sure about anything right now.

In the new silence of his car, Harry pauses for a second, trying to assimilate what had just happened into his perception of reality, but he concludes there is just no way of making sense of it. No rational part of his brain will fully comprehend the group of mysterious boys or why or how they found him, so he starts up the car and drives home, focusing maybe a bit too hard on the melodies coming from the stereo.

*

It’s not until much later, when Harry’s chatting with his parents over skype, that he lets himself think about what happened in his car. His mother’s questions prompt him, the usual ‘how was your day?’ much more daunting now that something has actually happened. And it’s not like something ordinary he can comment about , but instead what he would rank the most weird experience of this life. There’s just no easy way of explaining the four strangers to his parents without raising alarm and, oddly, Harry doesn’t feel like it’s necessary.

They’d seemed pretty harmless, if terribly insane, and Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever see them again, so it’s no use to get Anne and Des worked up. They’ll make a whole fuss about what Harry feels, over what was at most a momentarily scary situation. Sure, he’d been affected right then, but after having a while to think over the whole experience, it looks more like an anecdote to tell his kids than one to take action on right now.

Harry gets a small distraction when his mom asks about the classes he’s taking, even if it’s just one and a course at a local, London college.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs, wincing internally at the way Anne’s face drops minimally, obviously not wanting to hurt Harry but doing so anyways.

It gets slightly harder to avoid the topic of the car vandals when Anne comments about Harry being uncharacteristically quiet and snaps him out of his thoughts. Her and Des’s eyes are fixed on him, and momentarily, panic seeps in. He stutters and chalks it off to tiredness, but the words “acting odd” are pushed into his brain, tone reminiscent of Anne’s voice.

Harry talks himself into believing it really is him being tired and not another one of those occurrences he’s been ignoring increasingly often lately. It doesn’t fully work, and later when he’s in bed, blankets up to his neck and eyes droopy, he wonders if it has anything to do with the group of boys in his car. He falls asleep before he can make anything out of that thought.

*

In hindsight, Harry should’ve probably taken the scratch marks on his door as a warning sign. He’d been too distracted, deeply immersed in the latest Imagine Dragons CD playing from his headphones as he’d put the key in, to make sense of them. He had stopped by the coatrack and shed his layers as usual, eyes trained on the floor before he had headed over to the kitchen, stopping in his tracks as soon as he’d lifted his gaze.

“Hello Harry,” the tall figure standing in the middle of the small group had greeted, smile deceivingly warm.

So now Harry, for the second time in the week, finds himself rooted to the spot. He’s just come back from class, not four days after the car incident, and already more strangers are showing up. His eyes roam over the three men currently in his livingroom, the built up appearance of two of them more threatening than the lanky, middle aged figure in the center. The one talking seems to be the leader, standing inches closer than the other two who flanked him protectively, their muscles flexing intimidatingly. He has brown hair laced with silver at the temples, and his face is tan, fake smile framing his unnaturally white teeth.

“Uh,” Harry says, taking a step back and wondering if he can make a quick escape. He’s too far from the door to outrun the gym rats, but all the windows in his flat are closed. The guys in his car hadn’t been very threatening, but the two towers of muscle standing in his living room are, and he’s certain they’d beat him to pulp in a second.

“Hi?” He says, hoping that maybe, _maybe_ , if he’s polite the weirdos will go and he will be able to continue his life, maybe move somewhere else for extra safety. His eyes still dart to the door and back, but the odds are still probably not on his favour there.

“If you run, they’ll have to shoot you, _dear,_ ” the skinny one interrupts, tone dripping with contempt. He’s rolling his eyes, and somehow, it makes him more intimidating. There’s just something about him that makes Harry uneasy (though it may just be the fact that he _broke into his house and is threatening to shoot him_ ) and more scared than he has ever been. The gang in his car is nothing compared to this, and on the inside, Harry’s cursing at whatever the hell made his week into this mess.

His hands are shaking, and his shirt is sticking to his lower back from the sudden burst of sweat. Harry keeps darting his eyes, but he must’ve been too focused since now the two tough guys are flanking his door, cutting off any chance of escaping.

“And you’ll still come with us either way,” Skinny adds, shaking his shoulders as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Harry’s breathing deeply, trying to keep his hysteria at bay, but every exhale comes shakier than the previous one and his mind is clouding up.

“What do you want?” He tries asking, thinking maybe he can give them his money, car, _anything._

“Oh, a lot of things Harry,” Skinny answers cryptically, a smile forming towards the end before he walks over to him, eyes glinting maliciously. “But for now, I just want you to be easy to carry.”

Before Harry can gather the meaning of such words, he’s being hit in the back of the head with the butt of a gun and his vision turns black.

*

The first thing Harry registers is that his ears are ringing. Voices are drowned by the high pitch, and he can tell two distinct, deep tones talking quietly under it. They’re far away by what he can judge, but they still cause shivers to run up and down his spine.

Panic begins to bubble up again at the disorientation, and in an attempt to calm himself, he goes over what he can remember happened before getting here.

Things had become hazy after the blow and Harry had felt himself fall, head rolling. Vaguely, he recalls the floor disappearing from below him, and there had been a pressure in his stomach that he hadn’t been too keen on. He had attempted to move, but his limbs had felt heavy and he’d been sleepy, _so sleepy,_ letting his eyes close (they’d been blurry, so it hadn’t been much of a change) and feeling the heavy arms of sleep dragging him away.

Then, he’d regained some consciousness as his body had been jostled about, the sound of pavement passing as if below a car rumbling in his ear. It’d been too painful though, his head throbbing and eyes begging to be closed again, so he had fallen back into the endless, comforting sea of unconsciousness.

Now, Harry’s head feels so much clearer, and though he can still tell where the strong metal had struck the skin, it’s like a heavy cloak has been lifted. He tries to open his eyes and take a look around, but as soon as he lets some light in pain strikes him, the brightness too much for his unaccustomed eyes. He wonders for how long he’s been like this, passed out and defenseless as strangers threw him around, but the thought makes his skin crawl and stomach drop so he leaves it aside.

Instead, he concentrates on trying to move his limbs, finding both his wrists tied to the chair he must be sitting on giving his position and the dull ache in his bum. Harry wriggles his wrists around but the rope is too tight, leaving his shoulders hurting and frustration blooming.

“It’s useless to try,” comes a voice, startling Harry out of his struggle and prompting him to open his eyes again, though this time with more care.

It’s blurry at first, but after a few blinks Harry’s eyes focus and take in the room. There’s not much to it, just a table and some more chairs similar to the one Harry’s in, everything lit up by a bright overhead light. It’s very clean and cold, not unlike a clinic, and when Harry locates the source of the voice, he freezes.

Standing next to some other guy Harry has never seen before is Skinny, who he guesses brought him here, his tan and unusual teeth dead giveaways. He looks amused, a small smile playing on his lips, and Harry feels a wave of disgust going through him.

Marcus, as Harry can see etched into skinny’s labcoat, laughs at Harry’s crinkled nose and wide eyes, taking a step forward. The table still separates him and the guy, but Harry nonetheless flinches at the movement, scooting back in the chair as much as he can whilst tied.

“There isn’t anywhere to go, Harry,” Marcus says, taking out a chair and sitting down, hand dismissing the burly guy who exits the room through the bland, white door after muttering out a ‘call out if you need backup, Marcus’.

Harry stays silent, mind going through all the possible emotions after panic; confusion at to what they could possibly want from him, fear at what will happen next and then anxiety, the need to get out of the room overpowering. However, he still recognizes the truth in the man’s words. It’s extremely unlikely that he will get out of this. He’s seen enough of those police programs to know that much.

“Now, we can drag this out,” Marcus starts, looking at Harry pointedly like he’s the one with tied hands and the right to be annoyed. “But I’m sure you’re tired and the faster we get through the questions, the sooner we can begin testing.”

Harry’s pulse quickens and he forcibly swallows, taking his time and trying to keep his voice steady. “Testing?”

“Just so we can determine the strengths and limits of your power,” Marcus clarifies, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, but Harry’s hung up on one word only.

“Power?” He echoes, unable to hide his confusion from his words. “I don’t- that’s-” He takes a deep breath and tries again. “I don’t have a ‘ _power’._ ” He shakes his head as he says it, disbelief making itself known as Harry processes that he’s being held by people who believe in superpowers, like actually believe they’re a thing.

The man laughs, head thrown back and everything, and the disgust in Harry’s stomach intensifies. “Of course you do, Harry! How do you explain the mind reading if not?”

Recognition floods Harry. “But that- that’s not a _power_!” He protests, despair creeping into his voice. He knows he shouldn’t succumb to it, is better off keeping a clear head and planning but it’s hard to think straight when someone is saying you have freaking super powers.

Seemingly understanding Harry’s honest cluelessness, Marcus takes a deep breath and leans onto the table like a creepy teacher explaining much harder and confusing maths.

“I’m guessing you know all of us humans are made out of genes,” he starts. “And sometimes these mutations happen, small changes in the code.” Marcus’s eyes are gleaming in excitement, and Harry has never felt so scared.

“They tend to be unnoticeable, but once in a while they give the person an extra ability, an added _something_ that is so wonderful and useful we can’t let it go by unused.” Marcus’s face softens in the smallest of ways and he smiles again as Harry draws in a shaky breath, panic growing.

“I’m sure you understand this, Harry,” Marcus concludes the explanation, speaking as if they know each other, as if they are _friends,_ and Harry’s legs tingle, ready to set off in a direction he doesn’t even know yet. He feels as though everything is getting progressively worse and the room is closing in, trapping him as effectively as the ropes and Marcus’s grimace.

“Now, I’m going to have to ask James to untie you so we can-” Marcus doesn’t get to finish that sentence, a series of crashes and loud screams filtering through the door. Harry and him both turn around with wide eyes, Marcus’s from fear and Harry’s due to hope.

Several loud thumps can be heard, even with the wall separating the hall from the room, and there’s a moment of almost silence before it all goes to hell. Harry sees it in slow motion, the door bursting open and the pretty guy--Not-thief-- from his car coming through it, screaming out orders as the room is filled up by the other three.

Two of them, Irish and Model, head over to Marcus, who pulls out a gun that is suddenly flying through the air, landing on the floor with a thump. It’s very hard to make out what is going on, but Model is moving his hands around a lot in quick swipes that turn blurry in Harry’s untrained eyes.

The other two split up, Not-thief heading towards Harry and Muscles staying by the door, eyes shifting constantly. Harry’s too stunned to speak but Not-thief doesn’t stop and talk anyways, keeps walking until he’s behind Harry and the ropes binding his wrists are loosened.

Before he can stand up though, he feels a pair of lips next to his ear, words low and teasing. “I usually take my boys tied up, but we need your pretty ass in motion, love.” Stubble scratches at Harry’s cheek and he turns around in time to see mischievous blue eyes roaming his face before they look up, seemingly snapping out of _whatever_ that was. (Harry’s brain suggests it was flirting, but remembering the snarky tone Not-thief had used in his car, he seriously doubts it.)

Harry doesn’t get to ponder though, is being hauled up by Not-thief -- _wow bulging biceps--_ and pushed forwards. He’s too confused to properly process what’s going on, hears a few shots and sinks into himself, praying that he’ll come out of this alive. The screaming continues but Harry has closed his eyes, scared whimpers leaving his lips everytime he hears another boom.

There’s a warm hand in the low of his back, and even though it’s a stranger’s, even though Harry’s confused and scared and doesn’t even know if he can trust these guys, Harry leans back into it. It’s comforting in a way nothing has been for a while and if he’s going to die he figures he can at least have this one thing.

They exit the room and step out into the hallway, voices trailing behind them as Harry starts to get more attuned to what is going on. Shots are more rare now, but there’s still a _lot_ of screaming, harsh words and urgent orders barked at what could be Harry’s ear for how loud they are. Once or twice people pop out of doors, guns held threateningly before they’re flung back by a force Harry fails to comprehend. It’s like logic’s been abandoned from the moment he’s been brought here, to this place where powers are believed to exist and things and people move by themselves.

Harry’s probably just drugged up on something and that thought is no more comforting than the possible existence of powers. He continues walking anyways, fueled only by the inexplicable trust he feels towards Not-thief’s guiding of him and the hope he holds of getting to safety. The possibility seems more and more distant with each shot fired.

They near a door after a few twists and turns, the hand on the low of Harry’s back never relenting on its soft pushing. Three voices shout occasionally from behind them, but as if mimicking Not-thief pushing him, Harry’s focus is undeterred, mind set on getting out of here. Whatever these boys are up to, they’re still better than the fake smiling, ‘testing’ advocates that have supposedly brought him here. Of course they could end up being worse than Marcus, the horrifying tan-in-a-can man, but there’s no use in pursuing that train of thought. Not-thief is at least taking him somewhere, and that has to be good. _It has to._

When they finally open the door, it’s with minimal resistance, seemingly having defeated the counter attackers for the moment.

“Come on,” Not-thief urges, speeding up his pace towards a black van sticking out sorely against a parking lot full of Audis and Mercedes.

While wondering where the hell he’ll end up if he gets in the van, two armed men come out of the building and Harry makes up his mind, stepping into the vehicle and closing the door firmly. His breathing is erratic and he takes a few deep breaths in order to get his heart rate down and to be able to finally begin thinking calmly again. When his heart no longer feels about to burst, he lifts his head and is met with four pairs of eyes staring pointedly at him.

It’s intimidating, to say the least. (And also kind of fucking scary as they’re still strangers for all Harry knows.)

“Uhm,” Harry so un-eloquently says, hand reaching back and scratching at his neck, itching to relieve some of the tension that’s settled over the car.

Not-thief is on the seat next to the driver’s, eyes blue and kind of really pretty as they stare. Harry feels blood rushing to his cheeks when he notices and then Not-thief laughs, this crinkly sound that cuts through the silence.

“I’m guessing you remember us, then,” he comments, eyes gleaming teasingly and lips pursed in what Harry hopes is friendly mocking.

Harry huffs out a quiet laugh and nods, still alert to what’s going on, how Irish and Muscles have begun their own conversation without a care as to what Harry’s up to. It’s oddly flattering.

“Well, we couldn’t not come,” Not-thief continues, eyebrows moving around as he speaks. “After all, it _is_ quite rude not to call someone when you get their number.”

There’s a suggestive hint to his voice that throws Harry off while he tries to make sense of what he has just said until he remembers Muscles giving Harry his number before walking through the door (or whatever that was). A comeback pops into his mind and he ponders briefly if the terms between him and the group are good enough for him to use it, but in the end his cheeky side wins over and he says it, lips curving up into a small smile.

“So is breaking into someone’s car, but I’m not the one complaining.”

Not-thief’s eyes widen but he’s laughing, hand on his belly and voice booming through the van. Harry can’t help but join in, letting out through his laughter some of the shock he must be feeling. It _has_ been a pretty odd day after all.

Not-thief grins at him, and for a second Harry is caught up in the moment. Then, it’s as if a fog in his mind clears and he remembers where he is and what has happened. He sees the same thoughts mirrored in Not-thief’s’ expression, and his smile fades a little as his tone becomes more business-like.

“Right,” Not-thief pronounces, clapping as if signifying the end of the fun part. He turns around and makes a series of odd gestures that Harry fails to interpret but that result in Irish and Model tuning in. There’s a moment of silence as they all stare at each other until the confusingly flirty Not-thief clears his throat.

“Oh right,” Irish says, extending his hand out for a handshake that is too formal for the setting but which Harry does anyways. “I’m Niall and this is Zayn,” he continues, pointing to Model sitting next to him.

Not-thief introduces himself as Louis and then points to the driving Muscles, explaining his name is Liam.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry answers, reasoning that if they’re giving names (which could, of course, be fake but well they can’t be all too bad can they?) He’s begun to grasp the straws in terms of arguments to justify why he’s so calm when he really, _really_ shouldn’t be.

Harry shouldn’t joke but- “It’s good to get names for the police report.”- is just too good.

All the other's face pale, eyes widening, and Harry bursts out laughing, eyes squinting and belly hurting. It shouldn’t be funny and he should really mean it, but there is no way he can explain this to the police and even if there were, he doesn’t particularly fancy spending the rest of his life in a psych ward.

“Your faces!” He wheezes, wiping off the tear that has pooled in the corner of his eye.

The group's faces begin to relax then and the ones called Louis and Zayn smile while Niall all but loses it, voice booming and oddly comforting.

“Honestly, there is no way I’d be able to explain that I was abducted by crazy people who think powers are a thing,” Harry elaborates, a few laughs escaping him when he fully takes in that this is something that has happened, that it’s not some pot induced fantasy or whatever.

The van has gone silent though, and when Harry’s laughs stops again he notices it, catches the uncomfortable glances Zayn is giving Niall and Louis’s odd mouth purse.

“Powers _are_ real, Harry,” Louis awkwardly says, Niall’s nervous chuckle punctuating the words.

Harry groans and buries his face in his hands, breathing deeply and trying not to panic again. He feels slightly betrayed, not only by the deceivingly normal group but also by himself because of the way in which he’d fallen into normalcy with the group so quickly.

“No they’re not!” He all about screams, the frustration of hearing so many fantastic statements in less than two days catching up. Everyone throws these bombs at Harry with no proof and he’s tired, fed up of trying to reason with sentences he can’t even comprehend. “And I’m tired of hearing about that.” He breathes out deeply, trying to steady his voice as his mind supplies that losing his temper is probably not the best idea while in a van with strangers. “I want to go home, please.”

He says the last bit tiredly, the recent events catching up to him. He’s just a silly boy, he can’t deal with all of this and he can’t take any more of the constant fear and doubting. Tears prickle behind his eyes and he deflates, shrinking into himself.

“Well you fucking can’t, okay?” Louis snaps, making Harry jump in his seat at the suddenness of it. “We _tried_ to warn you,” he continues, Harry’s pulse quickening. “And you didn’t listen, so we went and got you, and you still don’t get it, do you? It’s not safe,” Louis enunciates each one of the last words slowly as if Harry were stupid, his eyes almost spitting fire by the way they’re dark and fixed on Harry’s. “The sooner you understand that we’re helping you, the easier it’ll be.”

Louis finishes what could be called a scolding and sighs angrily, turning around in his seat and staring out of the window, the distance between his seat and Harry’s much bigger than it seemed before. Niall and Zayn go quiet, and Harry turns around in his seat too, eyes fixed on the window and mind on vain attempts to hold tears in. As they roll down his cheek, he feels his energy drifting lower and lower, the arms of sleep comforting in a way the harsh reality isn’t.

*

When Harry wakes up, the first thing he notices is that he’s quite comfortable, the heavy weight of a blanket covering him nicely. He vaguely recalls someone picking him up and him resisting it before being pressed against a lovely, warm chest, drowsy eyes fixed on what was maybe some tattooed letters he can’t picture properly. ‘It is...’ something something, Harry remembers the beautiful letters spelling, but he also feelt such a sense of safety being in those arms that the tattoo became a mindless detail.

Scanning the room, he’s relieved it’s very different from the cold, monotone white square where he last woke up. But it’s still not his room, so he doesn’t allow himself to stay in bed for too long. There’s a goal in Harry’s mind now, a need to start getting some answers and take back the control that’s been snatched from him in the last few days. Louis’s words still ring in his ears, the sharp ‘ _it’s not safe’_ too similar to what they’d said in the car to really feel like he’s made some progress. He’s been kidnapped and he still doesn’t understand why. It’s something that could’ve only happened to him, for sure.

As he stands up, Harry realizes that muffled voices can be heard through the door, a couple of excited shouts interrupting the conversation every now and then. He walks closer to the door, curious as to what it might be, but the voices are still too far away for him to make out what they’re saying. Sparing out one last glance at the room with strewn about skateboards and a chair overflowing with clothes, Harry steps out quietly.

Once Harry’s outside, though, he doesn’t know which way to go. He’s in a narrow hallway with several more doors along it. Light streams in through an arch at the right hand side of the corridor and he steps through it, enters what must be the main room of the building.

The roof is slightly domed and very high, the walls made out of worn out bricks that are covered here and there in very intricate graffiti. It looks like a revamped warehouse, which is so cool in Harry’s eyes, and as he takes in the rest of the decor he finds the source of the voices. Over by the two couches arranged in an L shape, Louis and Zayn are talking while Niall and Liam roughhouse in front of a tv screen displaying a paused FIFA match.

None of them notice Harry as he approaches, hands clasping the sleeves of the shirt he’s been wearing for too long already. Maybe if it goes well he can ask for some clean clothes and a shower since he may start attracting flies soon with how dirty he feels.

Not quite sure of how he should proceed, Harry clears his throat, letting out an awkward, odd pitched ‘Hi’ when all four boys turn around, Niall and Liam straightening out. Louis doesn’t meet his eyes but he’s not rude either, remaining in his seat as Harry hovers awkwardly over the group.

“Wanna play some FIFA?” Niall asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence with an easygoing tone that Harry’s used to hearing only from his friends. Somehow, he feels like Niall uses it with everyone. “This one here,” he continues, pointing at Liam “is a filthy cheater.”

Liam protests then, but Harry interrupts him, not wanting a fight to break out again out of fear that he’ll be left hovering awkwardly over the group until they notice him again.

“No, thanks,” he politely declines first, hoping to get off on the right foot today and to write over the impression he left yesterday, which he’s pretty sure is ungrateful, whiny brat. “I was hoping for an explanation, actually.”

He tries not to sound too demanding and it seems to be okay, as Niall and Liam’s eyes soften in what must be understanding. Louis is still not looking at Harry, is probably still be annoyed at him, and Zayn’s face is unreadable except for the smallest of nods.

“Makes sense,” Liam concedes, shifting around so he’s sitting more comfortably on the floor, Niall’s head now in his lap. “What do you want to know?”

Four pairs of eyes are on him, even Louis looking mildly intrigued, and Harry knows what he should ask but there’s a question that his brain screams instead.

“Are superpowers, like, actually real?”

There is a beat of silence before the four boys break out in laughter, Niall and Liam the loudest while Zayn’s quiet and Louis’ more just an attempt to contain himself. It makes Harry less nervous in some way, makes this all feel slightly more normal than it really is.

“I don’t know, are they?” Louis’s voice says, and when Harry’s eyes go to where he should be, he sees nothing, just a cushion slightly sunk as if a weight were on top. Harry turns around and searches for him, but he’s nowhere to be found, no trace of him left besides the quiet giggles that resemble his voice.

“Where are you?” Harry asks, slightly scared of the answer. The other boys are either smiling or laughing quietly, so it can’t be that bad, except that out of nowhere, Louis appears in his seat, materializing before Harry’s eyes.

“Right here,” Louis answers, smirk on his face and all traces of annoyance gone as he leans back on the cushion, eyebrows raised as if challenging Harry to say something about it.

Feeling the couch behind him to make sure he doesn’t fall, Harry sits down, mind reeling. He’s been preparing for this in some way, a part of his mind reminding him of Liam walking right through his door, but it’s still so surreal and strange. He has to admit it’s kind of cool though, and he’s suddenly curious as to what the rest can do.

Harry looks at them questioningly, still trying to gather his thoughts and admit to himself that _holy shit superpowers exist._ They get it though, Niall smiling as he becomes focused on a stray can of beer for about a second until the can just falls apart, breaking into thousands of tiny pieces and laying in a small pile of dust.

“Cool, huh?” he asks as Harry stares dumbfoundedly at the spot where the can used to be.

“Can you do that with anything?” Harry wonders, half in awe and half in fear at the image of a disintegrating human.

“Pretty much,” Niall shrugs, giddy at having shown his power.

It’s almost like a show and tell in the way that Zayn scoots up on his seat, glances at Harry to make sure he’s watching and then proceeds to make a can of paint float in the air _all with a tiny movement of his wrist._ It’s as astounding as Niall’s power, except Zayn holds it there for long enough that Harry is able to walk to the can and circle it with his hand, one hundred percent sure that there is no trickery and the can is freaking flying.

Of course, the first thing that pops into his mind is “Can you make me fly?”

It punches out another round of laughs and a happy nod from Zayn, who straightens out and stretches a hand towards Harry, palm up as he moves it upwards. Harry feels as if the floor was rising, almost like an elevator, but there’s nothing under his feet and suddenly he’s hovering a few meters above the ground, looking down at the other boys as he whoops and ahhs.

Harry’s not freaking out as much as he should, is actually quite giddy even as Zayn lowers him to the ground, stumbling a bit as he regains his footing. He smiles at Zayn as a thank you, still processing the idea that he’s just hovered over the ground magically, and instinctively turns to Liam, the only one who hasn’t shown off his power.

“You’ve seen mine, mate,” Liam reminds him, words sparking images of him walking through the car door, Harry thinking it extraordinary even after all he’s seen.

“Walking through stuff?” He confirms nonetheless, the possibility of there being more implied. Harry doesn’t know what to expect, what the limit is to all of this, and until he does it’s like everything is possible and a flying cow can burst through the door with Obama riding on its back.There’s no more concrete line for where reality ends, and the thought is dizzying to say the least.

Liam laughs and shrugs. “More or less,” he admits. “It’s more like I can make my body split up into atoms and squeeze through stuff, but ‘walking through’ sounds _sick_.”

That description sounds kinda painful if you ask Harry but Liam has shown no signs of pain when explaining, instead being all smiley and chirpy.

“No privacy, though,” Louis remarks from besides Harry, eyes twinkling. “Liam here’s a supernatural peeping tom.”

“Oi! You _want_ me to catch you, you kinky boy,” Liam complains, Louis laughing as the only response.

Harry can’t help but laugh too, admiring the way they can banter with each other. It’s all so easy and effortless, most likely formed after months and months of being together, and it tugs at something in Harry. He wants it too, the thoughtless interaction he’s never achieved with anyone, and the absence of it weighs down his smile. His frankly depressing thoughts are cut off by Niall speaking directly to Harry, the words semi-yelled by him requiring some degree of concentration.

“What about you then?” He asks, and it takes a moment for Harry to understand what he means.

It’s not exactly an easy question to answer. “I don’t -uh- I don’t really know,” he admits with a shrug, feeling sort of self conscious when everyone else has their powers all figured out. “I mean, I didn’t even know they existed until all of this happened.”

Harry knows he’s blushing and the four boys looking at him, so he’s not too surprised when he senses a wave of pity coming from them. The feeling is familiar, but getting it isn’t something he expected, not after he’d basically shut what he thinks is his power down since the kidnapping. It wasn’t a conscious decision, no, but he had gone more than a whole day without getting the waves of foreign emotion, and when he realizes this, he welcomes it back gladly. If powers exist at least he got one that’s physically harmless and can cause no outwardly damage, even if it is slightly disappointing seeing he can basically do nothing.

“You’re a mind reader,” Louis tells him in a bored tone, seemingly back to the annoyance he’s showing towards Harry. All the others stay silent and simply look at Harry, expecting his reaction.

“Sorry?” Harry asks, confused as to how Louis would know that and also how his vague sensitivity towards moods could be anything remotely close to mind reading, which is _so_ cool.

“You sense stuff, don’t you?” Louis elaborates, huffing out an annoyed breath when Harry nods. “What did you think that was? Fate’s way to get you into psychiatry?”

He laughs then, a short, dry sort of sound and it doesn’t really look like he’s laughing _with_ Harry as much as at him and his ignorance. Harry’s cheeks burn and he looks down, feeling stupid and inadequate.

Nobody's saying anything as Harry keeps his head down, willing his blush to subside so he won’t be even more embarrassed in front of the group.

“You haven’t developed your power yet,” Zayn informs Harry, tone much gentler than Louis’. It doesn’t escape Harry’s mind that they seem to know an awful lot about him, and he should probably question that but well, he’s a bit more focused on _his superpower._

“It’s probably why you didn’t realize,” Louis adds before Harry can ask anything, and it sounds a lot less mean now, more like he’s backtracking on his earlier comment. “Most don’t.”

That sort of makes Harry feel a bit better.

“How do I develop it, then?” He speaks, unable to keep himself from asking about it. It’s just, powers look so cool, if mildly terrifying, and if he’s going to have to deal with this new reality, he wants his power to be good. Plus, he kind of wants to show off in front of the others too, it’s only fair.

“Practice,” Liam supplies, shrugging as to mean _there’s no other way._

“We’ll help you!” Niall exclaims excitedly, scooting closer to Harry.

“It’s not like we have _anything_ better to do,” Louis comments sarcastically, but Liam is quick to reply.

“He’ll be more useful if he can handle himself Lou, and you know it.”

Harry doesn’t really get what they mean, but Louis doesn’t make any further comments so he figures it’s okay to leave it for now, after all, he’s got a _freaking superpower_.

*

Turns out, training is not as exciting as Harry had made it out to be in his mind. He’d pictured all sorts of cool power stuff, people running around and laser beams everywhere, for some reason. It’s more of a ‘lets sit down in a circle and talk about how we get our powers to work’ which is okay, Harry guesses, as long as it helps.

“It’s not super complicated,” Liam is explaining, brows furrowed as if he’s having a hard time getting it right. “I just picture myself on the other side and it happens.”

“That’s such great advice for a _mind reader,”_ Louis remarks, nodding along comically as they all laugh, even Liam, albeit with a light blush.

 “Oh fuck off,” he replies, shoving Louis before focusing back on Harry. “I meant picture what you wanna do and then do it. Simple.”

Harry nods sincerely and then looks around the small circle, stopping at each of the boys to assess who he should try it on. Niall makes a face but shrugs, apparently okay with the prospect of someone knowing what’s in his head. Zayn wrinkles his nose but stays quiet, stance slightly more tense than before, so Harry thinks he better not. Liam seems neutral but Louis, _the little smug shit_ , is smirking, eyebrows raised and pretty mouth contorted mockingly. It’s a dare through and through, and Harry may not be on safe ground with Louis (God knows he hasn’t been sure of whether he’s annoyed or teasing or what, really, since he got here) but he’s never been one to chicken out.

Focusing, Harry looks straight into Louis’s eyes, which _wow_ are a surprisingly beautiful shade of blue, and pictures taking a look into his brain. Nothing really happens at first, just Louis stifling a laugh and the other boys watching, so Harry redoubles his efforts and is rewarded with a glimpse at...seductive grandmas?

“What the hell are you thinking about?” He asks, joining Louis when he bursts out laughing.

“Should’ve seen your face, mate!” Niall says, him too joining in laughing.

Harry shakes his head and tries to calm down, looking up to find Louis watching him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Wanna try again?” Louis asks. “I’ll go easy on you this time.”

Harry’s been here less than a day but he’s already realizing Louis is this playful, teasing yet intimidating character. He’s so much so fast and Harry feels great when he gets to play along, but that isn’t often. It feels like Louis takes one step forward with him and then two back, snapping back to his annoyed state like earlier. Harry isn’t that great at keeping track; he gets lost every time in the middle of the change.

Right now it seems he has Teasing Louis, so Harry nods and attempts again, failing this time to get any idea of what he was thinking. Sadly, he shakes his head and watches as Louis’s mouth quirks down in the smallest of ways, though it may just be wishful thinking.

“It’s okay,” Liam reassures. “No one expects you to be great at it right away.”

Harry knows it's true, but he can’t help but be disappointed in himself, not being a natural at it. Showing off would’ve been nice and so would’ve being able to beat Louis at his little game, but he guesses it’s okay. It’s not like the practice ends here, right? He has more time to perfect it, though now that he thinks about it, he has no idea how long they’ll keep him here. It’s such a stupid thing to have ignored that Harry feels he should kick himself.

“How...” Harry starts, trying to not make it sound like he’s ungrateful for their rescue or eager to leave them all behind. They’re quite nice, though still slightly foreign of a concept for Harry, and he wouldn’t want to offend them with how much they’ve done for him already. He does have manners.

He goes for, “For how long are you going to keep me here?” which _okay_ is not his best attempt at subtlety.

“We’re not _keeping you_ here,” Louis barks, smile gone and eyes piercing as he stares at Harry. “You’re free to go and get yourself killed any time.”

“No, I know, I just-” Harry tries in an attempt to fix it, wincing at every word he says that changes nothing about the way they’re all staring at him: Louis with clear and familiar annoyance, Zayn with a mostly blank face though it somehow feels like pitying with how he’s shaking his head slightly, and Niall and Liam with some surprise colouring their features.

“Forget it,” Harry ends up saying, standing up and leaving the room to go back to the place he’d woken up in. He vaguely hears Liam say something quite strongly and Louis retorting mockingly, but Harry gets to the room and closes the door, breathing deeply to clear his thoughts.

It doesn’t feel right to get in the bed again now that he realizes it probably belongs to one of the boys, so instead Harry leans against one of the few clear spaces on the wall, lets his knees give as he slides down onto the floor. Resting his head on his knees, Harry replays the last few moments.

It isn’t wrong for him to want to know, he reasons. He’s got a life outside this crazy, dream-like time with the four boys, and though it’s definitely not as thrilling, he’d like to know what will happen to it. The flat and uni classes can go to hell but his family and such, _god,_ how could he even explain this to them?

Harry doesn’t get much time to ponder that as there’s a soft knock on the door. Not really wanting to see anyone but reasoning he can’t deny entry to someone else’s room, Harry instructs them to come in in a small voice. It turns out to be Zayn.

“May I?” He asks, pointing to the spot next to Harry’s, sitting down at the responding nod.

They remain silent for a while, the gears in Harry’s head turning as he waits for Zayn to speak. He doesn’t mind the quiet company, but there must’ve been a reason for him to come hang out right now. Harry’s an okay guy to be around, but they’re not this close and he’s not stupid.

“It took me some time to get used to it too,” Zayn says, voice mellow and soft, not quite cutting the silence as easing into it. “And I know it’s hard, man, but we really are trying to help you.”

Harry looks up, eyes meeting Zayn’s. He looks so willing to help in his own, quiet way, not like Niall’s blatant attempt to include him or Liam’s instructional explanations, and it means so much. Zayn’s obviously stepping out of his comfort zone here, with how his voice is not too sure and how he takes out a cigarette, checking with Harry before lighting it and puffing at it with a needy edge. He’s doing it for Harry, and it’s simply touching _._

“I just don’t get what the issue is,” Harry admits, shrugging. “Some guys kidnapping me? Shouldn't we, like, call the cops, or something?”

“There’s nothing the police can do, it started with powers and the only way to end it is by using powers. This is _big_ , Harry.”

They both pause, letting the words hang heavily between them.

“Also,” Zayn continues, huffing out an amused breath.“‘ _Some guys’?”_ he repeats with a smile as he shakes his head. “That’s what you call a group of people with superpowers that recruits and uses talents to terrorize the world? Nice.”

Blushing, Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t know that it was that bad!” He complains, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips before the words catch up to him. “Wait, what are talents?”

“People like you and me,” Zayn explains. “It’s the correct term, or something. I prefer superheroes, but you need a tragic backstory and an ambiguous sidekick for that, I think.”

Harry laughs, deeply and fully. Zayn’s actually quite a cool guy. It’s nice, to be able to have a chat like this, lighthearted but informative.

“I don’t even know what my name would be,” Harry ads. “The useless mind reader guy,” he says, voice deep and announcer-like. It gets a laugh out of Zayn.

“You’ll get better,” he is comforted. “We all did.”

The words spark a question in Harry’s head.

“How long have you guys been together?”

They seem to be very comfortable around each other, and the building looks lived in, as comfortable and homey as a warehouse can be. There’s no tension or awkwardness, no long silences or uncomfortable pauses like there is with the couple of people Harry has to call friends. They’re _not,_ really, but what else is he supposed to do when he’s moved to a new city all by himself and no one is as nice as he’d hoped?

“A year or so, maybe two for Louis and Niall,” Zayn answers, looking like it’s hard for him to remember it. Harry gets that, he used to have friends he felt like he knew forever too. “I joined in last, put up a bit of a struggle, like you.”

“Why?” Harry asks, not being able to fathom why Zayn would want to leave this group of close friends he has. Well, besides the people wanting to kill him and the wacky powers.

“I like my privacy, deciding what to do myself,” Zayn says, defensive, “didn’t want to follow the crowd, you know? But it’s worth it, and these guys ain’t half bad.”

He’s smiling as he says it, and Harry wants to ask so much more but he feels okay with what he knows so far. There’s a lot more that he needs to know but he’s reassured, in a way, so he’ll train a bit and help these four wonky guys and it’ll be okay, he’ll go home after it. A vacation does sound terribly nice, after all.

Zayn must also feel the conversation naturally drawing to an end so he stands up, heading towards the door before stopping and looking at him again.

“Oh, and Harry?” he says. “Louis is a great guy, just give him some time.”

With that he is gone, and Harry’s left wondering if Zayn has a second power he hasn’t told him about. The questions he leaves on Harry’s mind are certainly powerful, to say the least.

*

And so, the days begin passing before they even seem to start, the hours filled with training and goofing around. Harry learns that these boys really are laidback and fun but also helpful and kind in the way they never stop practicing with Harry. His power does get stronger; now he can almost always get an idea of what someone’s thinking. It’s not precise, or anything, but he’s improved quite a bit, if he says so himself.

“Y’know lads,” Niall says when they’re strewn about the floor moments after Harry has read an image of some model off him, “I’m not too sure I wanna keep training Harry, here.” He motions towards the place Harry’s lying at.

A spark of worry makes him sit up, but Niall’s got a playful smile on his lips as he continues.

“Won’t get any privacy at all! I need my alone time.”

Louis snorts. “Oh, we _know_ Niall,” he comments, eyes meeting Harry’s for a second. “The walls are not that thin around here.”

Niall’s cheeks get flushed in red but he still retorts. “Fuck off.”

They all laugh, and Harry glances around, finding that he’s comfortable like this, watching the boys banter. It’s nice, and as the laughter dies down, he notices Liam nudging Louis and gesturing towards Harry.

“Listen, Harry,” Louis speaks, hands around his knees but still exuding an aura of authority. He’s the closest thing the group has to a leader,  Harry has come to realize in the last few days, and whenever he speaks (even more so if it is directly to Harry since their relationship is still mostly awkwardly volatile) it’s to say something important.

The rest of the boys remain silent and Louis continues, voice high and uninterrupted.

“We’re gonna go on a run next week. It’s nothing serious, mainly scouting and getting a better look at what we’re facing, but we need you to come with us.”

Harry would be lying if he said his pulse didn’t spike at the words, that his stomach didn’t flop happily at the thought of being needed. Still, it sounds dangerous.

“What’s a run?” He asks, figuring you can’t get out of things you don’t know.

“It just means we’re raiding a place by night, snooping around,” Liam supplies, as if going about what Harry pictures are obscure buildings is a common occurrence.

“Bit like spies, I reckon,” Niall adds, always one to make Harry smile and make things sound less serious.

“There might be some guards, though, and we’ll want to know if they hear us,” Louis speaks again, looking Harry square in the eye to make sure he’s understandinf. Heat sparks in Harry under his gaze.

“That’s when you’ll come in, but I need to know you can take it.”

It’s blunt in a way only Louis can be, and Harry can’t tear himself from his overwhelming gaze, mind whirring and urging him to say no. He’s not ready, his power is not that strong and yet he can’t bring himself to disappoint them all, Louis especially, not after all they’ve done for him.

“I can,” Harry assures him and then the rest of the group after Louis’s finalizing nod. “I’ll do it.”

A small cheer erupts after he says it and it makes Harry so happy that his help is so appreciated, that the realization of what he’s agreed to do doesn’t hit him until later, when they’ve all scattered. He’s agreed to a mission he knows barely anything about and which is most likely life threatening in some way. Shivers still arise when he thinks of Marcus, and he’s _definitely_ not ready to face him again. Not so soon.

Harry’s still in what he calls the warehouse’s living room, and the closest to him is Niall, hand in a bag of chips and watching television. Silently, Harry gets up and walks over to him, figuring he can ask Niall for more information on this dreaded ‘run’. He’s seen him talking to Zayn about what sounded specific logistics before, so he’s bound to know something, plus Harry’s less hesitant about showing his fear to him than anyone else. That smile and cheerful disposition don’t allow for Harry’s fake bravado, after all.

“Hey, Niall,” he starts, leaning on his side slightly. If there’s anything Harry’s picked up from the group is that they’re all quite cuddly, though Harry won’t be testing that theory with Louis anytime soon. They’re on good, sometimes incomprehensibly teasing terms, but Harry can’t help but find him distant and cold at times, as if he puts up a barrier when he remembers to.

Niall glances at Harry and smiles through a mouthful of food, offering the bag to Harry, who shakes his head.

“Uhm, I was actually wondering if you had more details about this ‘run’? I’m a bit clueless here,” Harry says, laughing slightly to lighten his question. He’s not afraid of showing his fear to Niall, but he still doesn’t feel like coming off cowardly in front of him. Harry’s still got to earn his spot, and he won’t be able to if Niall realises how fearful and unprepared Harry feels.

Niall tears his eyes from the tv and simply looks at Harry for a moment. It makes Harry hesitate, and he’s about to invent an excuse and flee when Niall speaks.

“Yeah, I reckon we haven’t been super explicative, huh mate?” He sits up straighter and turns the screen off, bathing the living room in silence.

“Okay, so these guys who took you, they’re actually a lab company, a really messed up one, and they tell everyone they make pills and so but that’s just bullshit,” Niall explains, hands gesturing wildly as he explains. It’s obvious by the strength in his words that he’s angry at these people, and with good reasons, stance rigid and eyes with a wild spark to them.

Harry simply nods, not wanting to interrupt and jeopardize further information.

“Me and Zayn get the scoop on them from other talents like us who fear them but don’t do anything about it ‘cos they’re real dangerous, but this shit can’t go on forever, you know? These fuckers need to go _down.”_  He’s so determined it’s kind of inspiring, to know Harry’s on the side of the good guys, even if the words ‘real dangerous’ echo in his head. “We won’t get to be chill until they’re gone, plus it kinda saves humanity all this terrorizing bullshit too.”

“And we’re going to their headquarters?” Harry asks.

Niall shakes his head fervently. “Nah, not yet at least. They’re not a _huge_ group, yet we need to know more about them before we bust in there and end them.” He grins. “I mean I’d _love_ to go in there and just disintegrate the place to the ground, wipe them off the map but we’d get busted before even making it that far.”

He says it so naturally that it’s almost scary.

“So what are we doing, then?” Harry digs further, still not getting it. All he’s got is that they’re dealing with dangerous masterminds and he’s agreed to go with them even if he’s got nothing to give. Barely a power and no courage is not what makes a good fighter.

Niall sighs, but he’s still got his smile on, so it’s okay.

“There’s this building, yeah? And they might be keeping some talents there, tryna bring them over to the dark side.” Niall puts on a voice at the end and it makes it all seem like a tale and not the fucked up mess that has become Harry’s reality. “We’ll get in, check it out and save some asses if they need saving. It’s simple.”

Niall’s still smiling even after just describing a nightmare, and it’s not a realization per se, but a single thought floods Harry’s mind. He is so, _so_ fucked.

*

It’s ten to twelve on a Tuesday, and Harry has just learnt that runs are really not as eventful as his imagination had lead him to believe. They’ve been hiding out behind some dumpsters for the better part of the hour, and Harry’s legs are cramped instead of adrenaline-spiked and in action. He doesn’t mind, really, because being behind a dumpster means he doesn’t have to use his power and be a disappointment to all of them, so what’s a little rotten smell and painful muscles after all?

In view is the door of a plain, brick building located on the outer parts of the city, several stories high and generally unassuming. Harry would’ve thought it deserted were it not for the periodic shadows seen through the windows and the guard standing outside. He’s probably meant to be discreet, but his gun is hanging almost all the way out of his pocket, guard terrifying and ready to shoot Harry with it if they mess up.

Louis’s eyes are icy blue and trained on the guard, haven’t really left him since they’ve arrived, and he shows no sign of discomfort. Niall’s in a more comfortable position, sat next to Zayn, whose fingers twitch presumably due to the impossibility of smoking at such a tense moment. Well, what Harry considers tense, at least, since the others all look quite collected, if not determined and patient. It’s just Harry who’s fidgety and anxious, eyes darting from the stone-cold Louis and the silent Niall, begging for some sort of distraction. Even Liam’s quiet as he spies the top stories using binoculars, and he’s so relaxed one could almost think he was a normal human watching simple, non-threatening birds instead of a building full of enemies.

It’s a few more minutes of silence until one of them moves, Louis shifting so he can reach around and look at Liam.

“Everything clear?” He asks.

Liam nods. “Two people on the second floor and one on the third. All still.”

Louis hums in acknowledgement, going back to staring at the guard and- _-holy shit_ his jawline is perfect. Sharp and tan and simply amazing. It’s just there, now that Louis seems even more alert and ready to pounce, and it’s _so_ close to Harry he has to refrain from leaning out and biting at it. It’s a terrible thing to notice now, when Harry’s already nervous and they’ll be moving soon but also, _stubble_. It’s a serious situation and also most definitely (or probably) due to the adrenaline. Too much going on in his body, Harry can’t be blamed for finding a distraction, even if he wants to lick and rub that distraction all over his skin.

Caught up in mental images, it takes a borderline rough jab from Louis to clear his mind and realize he has spoken to him. Blue eyes stare at him so intently Harry feels like crumbling and disappearing into himself, but they’re on a run and he needs to get himself together, goddammit.

“Has the guard noticed anything?” Louis asks, temptingly pink lips curling around the words.

He leans out and checks, finding the guard motionless and seemingly oblivious. It’s pointless, because Louis could’ve easily looked himself (would’ve even trusted the answer more, even), and when he turns around to say just that, it hits him. He’s meant to use his powers, as in telepathically sense any sort of out of place thought, and the realization makes Harry falter for a second. Sure, he’s practiced and all, but this is a potentially life threatening scenario.

The boys are still silent, and as Harry’s eyes meet Louis’s, he’s given a small encouraging nod which makes it all even worse. They trust him to do this, he _has_ to do it and yet he’s frozen, everyone’s eyes glued to him and heart beating at twice the speed. With no other sound but the constant thud, he turns around again, this time with sweaty palms and a burning back from the expectant stares.

It’s like what the son of an overly proud dad would feel at a football game, except his winning kick is his power and he hasn’t had time to practice it enough. Four stares feel like the entire stadium as they bare into his back, and when he focuses on what would be the ball, Harry’s world doesn’t narrow to the guard’s mind as it should. He frowns and redoubles his efforts, but his head is too caught up in the looks, in the expectations and the weight of his actions to narrow his attention to a single object.

That’s how Harry does it, the mind reading, he shuts off the unimportant things like you would fasten shutters on noisy windows, but they’re refusing to close, clinging to his thoughts and taking up the whole space. He’s sweating buckets by now, and he doesn’t dare look back with the stricken expression he must be sporting, can’t stomach the idea of seeing their faces fall and looks of disappointment come up when he announces that he can’t, that he’s a complete and utter failure.

So Harry does what must be the worst possible decision ever made and lies, mind spewing prayers that it all goes well even when there’s no indication that it might.

“No, he’s--uh,” Harry says, scrambling for a word to describe the guard that isn’t ‘unreadable’. “Calm,” he settles on, belittling himself internally as Louis mulls it over before breathing out in relief when Louis accepts it and moves on to murmuring with Liam.

Even as the focus shifts back from him to the building, Harry feels like he’s just swallowed twenty stones, gut tight and heart heavy. It’s made worse by the smile Niall shoots his way, kind and encouraging in all the ways Harry doesn’t deserve.

“Ready in two,” Louis announces, and the rest of the boys shuffle into less comfortable but easier to get out of positions, each one of them with a plan in mind.

“You stay close to me but out of the way, okay?” Louis had told him before leaving, hand heavy but warm and wonderful as it had rested on Harry’s shoulder. “And don’t start shit.”

Harry recalls the instructions and sits up too, drawing in greedy breaths in futile attempts to calm his heart. It hasn’t slowed down once, instead pumping faster and faster as they get closer to facing the consequences of his lie. Zayn’s hand skirts over Harry’s where it rests on the dirty concrete, and it’s such a simple gesture that Harry can’t help but smile at him, figuring if he’s going to die, at least it is with noble people and doing something that matters.

Louis counts them down and then they’re off, everyone disappearing before Harry even has time to get up. His eyes search for Louis desperately, and they find him plastered to the side of the building, thighs thick and flexing and-- Harry sprints towards him before that train of thought can be pursued. Like during the escape from the lab, Harry has trouble keeping up with most of what’s going on, but his mind is still sharp enough to interpret Louis’s silent commands shown through diverse hand gestures.

“Don’t die,” Louis tells him, finger held up like a stern father which is such a bad comparison when half of Harry’s brain is focused on how good he looks while acting authoritative. Harry has around ninety-nine problems, and a possible submission kink is now one.

Harry nods and Louis smiles, cracking his neck before becoming invisible right in front of Harry’s eyes, his clothes vanishing with him. He’s seen it countless times by now, but he’ll never get used to seeing it.

“Slowly count to ten and then follow me,” Louis instructs, and then he’s gone, the action only noticeable due to him stepping on a nearby leaf as he goes.

Harry’s left there, wondering how the hell one can follow someone invisible, and hoping this doesn’t go terribly.

*

The warehouse is silent, windows open to let the soft breeze in. The kitchen’s bathed in moonlight, the soft locks of Harry’s hair shining in it as it splays over his knees. He’s curled up in himself, hands around his knees and head bent, body rocking slightly as he cries.

It’s all too recent, the way they’d gone in and realized it was a trap, the building empty save for expectant guards. Harry had been with Louis as he’d barged in, and the utter look of disappointment on his face had been etched on the back of his eyelids, present each time he closed his eyes. He’d tried to explain when they’d all arrived miraculously safe back to the warehouse, but Louis’s outraged screams had reduced Harry to a whimpering, guilty mess.

He hasn’t attempted to explain his actions since. Harry wants to, he really does, can’t stand knowing the four people who’d become his friends (really, that’s the only way to describe them) are mad and, worst of all, let down by him. But he can’t find the strength to get up and look for them, knees weak and chest aching still as a few tears roll down his eyes.

“They could’ve died,” Harry whispers to himself, palm coming up to hit himself on the head. It’s hard to understand that his stupid ego could’ve lead to any of the four boys being killed. The lovely people who saved him gone because he couldn’t admit he’s weak. Knowing that makes him feel more pathetic than admitting his uselessness ever would, and a few more tears gather in his eyes.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes out, stretching himself out so that he’s laying starfished on the ground, muscles relaxing from their previous crouch. “I’m so stupid.”

“You are,” comes Louis’ voice, the unexpected sound prompting Harry to sit up, alarmed. Hurried hands wipe away the tears.

Louis is fetching a glass of water from the fridge, waves of discontent rolling off him. Sure, _now_ Harry’s power decides to work, when the last thing he needs is extra feelings on his mind, another voice to tell him how much he sucks.

Without looking at Harry, Louis sits down in front of him, back against the wooden kitchen island. His eyes are closed, head tilted back and he looks devastatingly gorgeous, though Harry doesn’t dwell on it, part of the blame for today put on his oogling.

“You could’ve just told us, you know,” Louis says, head shaking softly, eyes still shut.

Harry doesn’t answer.

“When I said we needed you, I meant your power, _not_ your surprisingly bad ninja skills,” Louis continues, eyes meeting Harry’s and mouth huffing out a breath as his words gain a playful hint. They’re still stern, Harry can see the seriousness in Louis’s tight lips, but it’s like the edges are softer, understanding shining through his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, not daring to use his full voice yet. The atmosphere’s soft, safe, and he’d rather it stayed like that, shadows surrounding them and keeping their tones quiet. “I really am.”

Harry’s voice breaks, tears threatening to appear yet again.

“We know you are, Harry, but what if something had happened?” Louis asks, words tainted with slight hysteria, all the possible scenarios most likely running through his mind. “ _Fuck_ , I have no idea what I’d do without them.”

Louis’s eyes are shining, and Harry gets that it’s a privilege to see him like this, realizes Louis probably hasn’t let himself cry or absorb what almost happened yet. Louis’ disappointment has shifted to slight fear, the waves reaching Harry sharper and edged with panic. Reaching out, Harry wraps his hand around his ankle, tentatively letting Louis knows that he gets it.

Harry draws in a deep breath. “I can leave if you want me to,” he states, words ringing out in the silent kitchen. There’s a pause in which none of them says anything, Harry bracing himself for the reassurement that he’ll be thrown back into his life with meaningless uni courses and a power he can’t handle.

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t.”

Harry lets out all the breath he was holding, heart speeding up.

“And I bet the boys don’t either,” Louis continues, shrugging. “I mean, you realize it can’t happen again, yeah? That we will definitely kick your ass if you lie and put us all in danger again?”

Harry nods quickly, curls bouncing with it.

“Then it’s fine,” Louis says. “Can’t blame you for wanting to impress us.” His smile turns into a smirk. “We _are_ super intimidating after all.”

“More like scary crazy,” Harry giggles, hand coming up to suppress the embarrassing sound.

 Louis is still looking at him, but his eyes have softened in a way Harry can’t decypher. Louis’ emotions feel free of panic as he opens his mouth in mock offense, dainty fingers covering his lovely mouth.

“How dare you! We’ll have to have you beheaded immediately,” Louis answers, scaring away any fears Harry had about crossing lines. “Such a lovely head of curls, wasted!”

Harry’s stomach flutters at the comment and he doesn’t pay attention to it, mind taken up by his attempts to not moan as Louis sinks his fingers into Harry’s hair to demonstrate his point. It should be awkward, but instead of that terrible feeling, Harry’s flooded with-

“What are you doing here, anyways?” Harry asks, trying to divert from how flushed he’s become.

Louis doesn’t meet his eyes. “Wanted to check up on you, is all. I know we were a bit harsh.”

“We?”

Louis sighs. “Okay, _I_ was, and I realize it was kinda shitty because you’re new and all. I was a bit keyed up.”

“I won’t do it again,” Harry quickly reassures him, hand still wrapped around Louis’s ankle and thumb caressing the skin softly. It’s slightly nerve wracking, to do such gesture, but Louis is still relaxed so Harry doesn’t pull away.

“You have to learn to control your power, though,” Louis says. “We need all the help we can get. Plus you can’t just mooch off us forever.” He winks. Harry dies a little.

“I’ve tried!” Harry cries, resting his forehead on his knees, shame washing over him again. The poor baby of the group, unable to use his powers or learn how to. “It’s just _so_ hard.”

The last thing he wants is to whine in front of Louis, but the subject’s still tender and he can do it just once, right? It’ll be okay (he hopes).

Louis doesn’t comment on the whining, instead, he smirks. “That’s because you haven’t been training with me. I mean the boys are _fine_ but I’ll get you up and going in no time; won’t have no slackers in the tommo team.”

“What if I still suck?” Harry asks, insecurities not yet silenced.

“Then ten spankings and a new try for you,” Louis answers, picking his glass and getting up, leaving it by the sink before disappearing with a few final words.

“Tomorrow at noon, not a minute earlier. Wear...whatever.”

*

Harry would be lying if he said he’s chill with Louis training him. In fact, he’s probably as cool with it as an ice cube in the fiery depths of hell by how he’s fidgeting and psyching himself up. He’s not a normally anxious person, but he’s very well aware of his new _infatuation_ with Louis and he isn’t too sure he’ll be able to keep his focus.

Turns out, his fears are well-founded, as Louis strolls into the living-room area wearing low slung joggers with visibly nothing underneath and a very loose vest. Harry might as well kiss goodbye to his power right now because my oh my Louis’s body. He’s not exactly toned, but his exposed biceps have just enough definition to make them appealing, tan skin contrasting with the dark traces of countless tattoos. Louis is also sporting stubble or, as Harry thinks of  it, ‘his personal turn on switch’. Seriously, it’s as if Louis is the mind reader with how on point he gotten everything. Give the man a baby and Harry’s ready to marry him and gallop off into the sunset.

“Ready?” Louis asks, startling Harry out of his daze with a knowing smirk. _Dammit_ , there goes Harry’s totally believable pretense of coolness.

Harry follows Louis to a more secluded corner of the room, away from where Niall’s fiddling with a computer and Zayn’s reading a comic book with more style than anyone’s entitled to. They sit down and start pretty much the same as before, Harry focusing on trying to get into his mind. Louis’ got a gentle look on his face, like he’s making it easy for Harry which makes it extra frustrating when he only gets a sense of nostalgia off of him.

“I’m just getting a reminiscent kinda feel, not much else,” Harry informs, shoulders slumped already. It’s barely ten after twelve, and he’s already on the path to failure. How lovely.

Louis actually looks happy. “That’s good! I was thinking about my old town, the streets and houses and so.”

Harry smiles. “Where is that?” He asks, hoping he’s not overstepping any lines. They haven’t exactly been the most open about their lives, any of them, but Harry’s all for changing that. It’s better to be friends with people you know deeper than sleeping habits and tea preferences, after all.

“Doncaster,” Louis answers after a pause in which he seems to debate with himself, his struggle easily seen through his furrowed brows. In the end, he ends up matching Harry’s expression, albeit somewhat wistfully. “Small place, great people.”

Definitely pleased with getting an answer and eager to reassure Louis, Harry offers up, “I’m a Holmes Chapel boy myself. Thought you sounded kinda similar, northerner and so.”

Louis raises a single brow. “Are you likening my sexy brogue to your posh accent, Harry?”

“Maybe.”

Louis scoffs. “As if! I’m ‘street style meets poor as fuck twenty-something’ and you’re ‘son of an old rich lady’. We’re complete opposites.”

“Ah, but those make the best pairs,” Harry remarks cheekily, his glee spreading to his whole face, squinty eyes and all, when Louis blushes and laughs throatily.

“Sweet talking will get you nowhere,” he informs, not at all convincingly seeing as he is now much closer to Harry, thighs touching and arms grazing.

It makes Harry realize how flirty Louis is being, and not in the peekaboo flirty-otherwise cold way that he used to, but openly and unashamedly. It should be more confusing, given the way Louis had been acting, and yet it comes so naturally that it’s almost odd to question how long it’ll last. A day? Until training’s over? It’s a valid question, and there’s no answer that doesn’t involve asking Louis which, no thanks.

Harry doesn’t know where it comes from, this new bout of wonderful banter. It could be from the fact that they’re quite secluded from the rest, almost in their own bubble; or from the kitchen talk the other day, a possible change-inducing event Harry may have underestimated. The shift is surrounded by unanswered questions, each a key to begin figuring Louis out, but it feels so nice that Harry resolves to just let it be for now. If it ends up just being an odd day, he doesn’t want to have wasted it with major yet unanswerable questions.

Louis claps his hands. “Enough slacking now, let’s try again.”

The second try consists of Harry focusing all his energy on Louis and actually getting a full on mental picture this time, his head filled with countless faces in a stadium, the slim figures of football players running in the distance.

“Football!” Harry exclaims in glee. “A stadium filled with people and a game. Looks really vivid, too, almost real.”

“That’s because it is,” Louis explains. “My first game ever. Was twelve at the time.”

Harry nods, taking every little thing Louis offers about himself and committing it to memory. It’s the most fascinating subject he’s had in ages, and if it were a uni course then he would gladly wake up at seven to attend it.

“I think it works better when I’m thinking something personal,” Louis explains after a pause, and Harry stops and thinks, reckons that what he’s saying is true. It’s also an excuse to be let into more and more of what Louis really is and he isn’t exactly about to complain about that.

“Maybe because you know it better,” Harry offers up, the idea just forming up in his mind. It makes sense, really. “I mean, it’s been in your memory for a while, longer than any sexy granny stuff.”

Louis laughs at the reference to the first week, and Harry shakes his head but lets out a small chuckle.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, leaning back on his heavenly arms and relaxing. “I think we should try that a few more times until you always get it right and then we can move onto other things, like single thoughts and memories I’m not actively reliving.”

“Uhm, isn’t that a bit advanced?” Harry asks uncertainly.

“We gotta get you up and running as fast as we can,” Louis reminds him, bringing Harry back into the world of the missions and impending bad guys as he pulls in closer, hand resting atop Harry’s.

“Plus,” Louis adds with a teasing tilt of the mouth, “can’t have you knowing all my secrets for the sake of training, Harold. Mystery _is_ crucial, after all.”

He pulls away then, but not before winking and completely melting Harry’s brain in one move. He is so not getting out of this untouched. Oddly though, he doesn’t think he minds that at all.

“Get on with training, you lazy buggers!” Zayn yells at them from the sofa, Louis giving him the middle finger and both of them laughing. It does break the mood though, and they spend the rest of the morning actually training.

*

Touching Louis will never not be a religious experience. It’s been about a minute since Harry had stumbled and fallen into Louis’s chest, which was way too firm and lovely to be legal, and he’s still flushing, face hot and too obvious. They’ve just begun the training, but as per usual with the practice lately, they’re mostly bantering, the exercises few and increasingly spaced out.

“How could superman ever be better than spiderman, Harold?” Louis asks, hands thrown up in exasperation.

“He’s like an alien...and stuff!” Harry replies, admittedly knowing very little about superheroes but also wishing to extend the chat for as long as he can.

With how serious Louis had seemed before, Harry’s surprised he’s been discovering new bits and pieces that show the complete opposite every day. The most recent is superheroes, and when Louis had asked, of course the first one that had popped up in Harry’s mind was superman. Freaking Superma who no one actually likes. One more testament as to what Louis’s attention does to Harry’s brain.

“I’m seriously reconsidering our friendship right now,” Louis deadpans, making Harry giggle, his hands coming up to try and keep the embarrassing sounds in. 

“As if! My cooking is the best thing that happened to you guys,” Harry shoots back, unfazed at the idea of teasing back. It hasn’t always been this way, Harry having gone through the agonizing dilemma of answering versus not risking it, a battle which had been obviously won by his cheeky heart and more-than-mild obsession with Louis (he’s not thinking about the last one too much, though, nope, not at all).

“You mean the sandwiches we had yesterday? Oh yes, fine cuisine, that.”

“Shut up!” Harry whines, cheeks flaming up. “The groceries had run out, don’t be a prick.”

Louis seems to hesitate before he speaks this time, though his smirk is big as ever, eyes keeping in all the doubt. Harry pretends not to notice.

“But you love pricks, dear!” Louis remarks, armed with the knowledge he’d acquired a few days back after Niall’s simple yet complicated question of Harry’s love life. It’d been a few, tense minutes until he’d admitted he was actually very much gay and not in a relationship at the moment, and Harry has no intentions of relieving such an awkward moment. Plus, it’s not like the constant flirting with Louis isn’t a dead giveaway anyways.

“So do you, Lou, so stop terrorizing Harry and look at this,” pops in Liam, and as soon as they both notice him, their bubble pops.

Louis’s face falls and he moves his leg away from Harry’s, as if scolded, while Liam remains oblivious and goes over a few stats Harry doesn’t care for. Resigned to having to share Louis and to ignore the jealous flare that burns in him as Louis touches Liam without hesitation, Harry pulls his knees up to his chest. He tries to concentrate and use his power since he’s not training much with Louis and he does want to learn to use it, after all.

At first it’s nothing and Harry redoubles his efforts, his mind pushing away the thoughts of Liam’s proximity to Louis and focusing on Louis’s mind alone. It’s hard, but after a few seconds Louis glances at him and a very clear, very loud thought broadcasts itself through Harry’s mind.

_his fucking endless legs! wanna wrap them up around my hips and just fuck him up_

It’s so blunt, blatant and undeniable that Harry’s face falls in shock for a moment as his cheeks flame up and mind pictures what Louis’s imagines. He knows they’re attracted to each other, the flirting too constant for it to not be true, but he’s never even dreamed of Louis thinking that way about him. Harry feels warm and hot all over, and as he dares look at Louis he gets a strange look that prompts him to get up and mutter a lame excuse as he walks away from them.

He’s probably just conditioning his own mind to hear things, right? It’s just pretentious to think that Louis, a guy who had hated Harry’s guts and who is just now beginning to like him thinks that way. Those really couldn’t have been his thoughts. Harry knows he’s attractive and all, but he’s got to be real here and not get as excited as his body seems to be, blood pumping and cheeks still flaming. He needs to get a grip and stop imagining things before he embarasses himself (or gets a boner in front of everyone).

Except it happens again the next day, Harry practicing with Louis only to be interrupted by Liam. Harry’s not too bothered by it, likes the break from what is already too lax of a practice really, but the minute Louis’s attention shifts to Liam, he gets this feeling of relaxation. It’s hard to get a grasp on, but if Harry had to say, he’d describe the feeling of letting go, of releasing reigns previously held tight and letting loose for a moment. It’s definitely odd though coherent, since Louis has known Liam for longer and it’d make sense that he’s more relaxed around him (not that Harry enjoys that fact, but well).

Trying to sort his head out, Harry attempts to push the feeling out, but it pushes back, almost encompassing his whole head. It’s happened before as they trained, only it was on purpose, Louis actively forcing his thoughts into Harry’s brain or thinking them really loudly and strongly so that Harry would sense them. The fact that he can when they’re not even trying must mean Louis is thinking about something he feels strongly about or is at least very focused on, and Harry would be lying if he wasn’t curious. The thought pops up in his mind, the idea of trying, just for science reasons obviously, to read an actual thought. Before he can even push it away, a sentence blares through his mind.

_just fucking being there, goddamn, those lips! kissing him must be hot as hell_

Oh no. Did that? Was that Louis? Harry’s brain scrambles to pull up yesterday’s explanation but it can’t be a coincidence right? Harry didn’t even mean to this time, just had a fleeting thought about it and the thing simply came up to him, practically a shout into his head. It feels so wrong, to hear these things that are oh so terribly personal, so so creepy. He doesn’t mean it, but he can’t exactly apologize to Louis, can he? No, that would mean admitting he heard all these feelings he has towards Liam and that would be plain embarrassing.

It’s already humiliating, and really disappointing, that Harry had a sliver of hope that yesterday’s was about him, he’s not going to go and confront Louis about his crush on Liam. It’s well founded after all, Liam does objectively have good legs and lips. Stupid legs and lips which Harry _also has_ and could put to good use with-- nevermind. It’s a tough pill to swallow but it’d be plain stupid to ignore the fact that it has only ever happened when Liam is present.

“Excuse me,” he mutters as he gets up, pacing himself so he doesn’t run out of the room like he wants to. It’s not as bad as it seems (except it totally is, freaking Liam and his muscles).

*

When night falls and everyone has gone to bed, the warehouse gets deadly silent, huge windows shaping shadows all throughout it. Harry’s door creaks as he shuts it, but all the other boys have long gone to sleep as he pads through the floor, cold seeping through his socks. This is not a strange occurrence, sleep being a fickle thing since he’s gotten here. Harry has his own room and everything now, with bare walls and the spare bed the boys had prepared for him way back when they’d first popped into his car but had now shown him in fear of creeping him out.

 Still, as Harry tosses and turns every night something tugs at his chest, a reminder of some silly cute thing Louis did that day or the ominousness caused by the never forgotten Marcus and his skin prickling lab. Needless to say, the first kind of thoughts keep him up for a whole other set of reasons, if Harry’s being completely honest. At least none of the boys have mentioned anything yet (not even that one time a tiny ‘Louis’ had escaped amongst his moans, for which he is forever thankful).

Today, however, it’s the need for certainty, the craving he has for something he knows his way around, he comprehends. He’s been beating himself up over so many things lately, questioning near every move around Louis, every accidental thought he reads increasingly often, and he’s just tired, needs the knowing embrace of his previous life.

When he gets to the kitchen he flicks on the lamp in the corner, not wanting to wake anyone but knowing very well the limits of his limb control in the dark. Harry pours himself some water and grabs the cellphone the boys keep there, some sort of untrackable device or something. It’s the only thing they have to communicate in the house, all other phones too vulnerable, which doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t use his own sometimes (there’s just something about playing flappy bird while in bed). Dialing the number by memory, Harry takes a seat on the table, knees pulled up as the tone beeps.

He’s not surprised when it goes to voicemail, the machine monotonous and loud in the quiet blanket of the night.

“Hey mom,” he starts, words hushed and so low that they come out slightly garbled.

Harry’s spoken to his mom since it’s gone down, had been near hysterical the moment he’d realized his mom would be worried sick by him disappearing out of nowhere. The other boys had assured him that he could call, albeit with some restrictions as of his location and company, and he’d done so, having the most awkward and somehow sad conversation with his mom. They hadn’t been very close lately anyways, so it hadn’t taken much at all to convince her he was fine, just clearing his head in some rural town in the US with bad signal. He hadn’t known what had been sadder, his mom’s tone when he’d confirmed he wasn’t going to uni anymore or the fact that she had sighed resignedly at almost everything he’d said.

“Just checking in, know it’s late and all,” Harry continues, words pouring out from the restless ache in his chest. “I’ve been good, made some cool friends here. You’d probably like them with how nice they are.” He doesn’t dwell on the uncomfortable reality that these two major parts of his life can never really meet, and that his description is a bland, unrealistic mirror of reality.

Harry pauses, breathing in deeply and rushing out all the air from his lungs before he releases what’s truly been weighing his mood down.

“I like someone,” Harry says, admission rolling off his tongue easily in the secretive space made up of his bit of the night and the endless void of the recording machine. “He cute and lovely, _so, so_ lovely. It’s kinda pathetic, really, how much I do. Proper schoolboy crush, I reckon.” He huffs out a laugh.

“Doesn’t even matter though, he really fancies someone else and I-- It’s fine, it really is. I mean, I should be happy right? That the other guy is proper and gentlemanly and probably likes him back. Deserves him, and all that jazz.” Harry spits out, feeling the sadness spreading through his whole body in waves, one after the other, deep and crushing.

He lets himself feel it for a moment, the lightness of having admitted it out loud, even if just to himself and a machine. It’s there, it’s true, and it makes his chest feel looser, his ribs unlocking so that he can finally breathe in and out normally. He’s not truly freed, knows that he won’t be since he can’t admit it to whom he should, but he’s content like this. Everything else, with time, shall pass.

“Anyways,” he wraps it up, knowing his mum doesn’t really have time, or much interest, in his babbling. “Just wanted to say I’m doing good, hope you are too.” It feels like he should add a _miss you_ , but he’s never had the habit of lying.

When he hangs up, Harry doesn’t immediately go to put the phone back, feels like he needs a moment to fully put himself together again. He’s doing that when he hears a set of steps coming towards the room, and when he looks up it’s just in time to catch Louis’ surprise splashed throughout his face, body frozen for a second before he pulls himself together.

“Hey,” Harry begins, too tired to ignore the feeling of disappointment emanating from Louis. It’s not a very uplifting piece of knowledge. “I was just leaving.”

He starts to get up but Louis waves him off, coming to the table with a glass of water and sitting on the chair next to Harry’s. He’s only in his pajama bottoms, though Harry’s trying really hard to ignore that. What, Louis’s chest is on display? Harry hasn’t even noticed, nope, not even the shadow of his barely-there abs and the way his tan seems endless, tattoos sticking out invitingly.

“Don’t mind me,” Louis tells him, tiny hand wrapped around the glass as he takes a sip. “Couldn’t sleep so I ended up here, didn’t think anyone would be up.”

“Same for me, but I can leave,” Harry states again, uneasy at the idea of staying when Louis obviously wants some peaceful alone time. “I’m done anyways,” he adds, waving the phone in his hand meaningfully.

Louis nods, understanding. “Just stay, Harry,” he commands, shoulders slumped while the feelings coming off him change to tiredness, the truly deep kind that a night’s sleep can’t fix, even if you manage to get it.

“Please,” Louis adds softly, and Harry settles back into his seat, feeling like he should say something but not knowing what.

“Are you-” Harry starts, voice petering down when Louis looks at him, eyes blue and heartbreakingly open in the dim light. He clears his throat. “Are you okay, Lou?”

Louis huffs. “‘m fine,” he assures Harry, taking another sip of his water, as if the motion will give him more time. “Just tired.”

Harry hums in agreement. “You and Liam have really been getting into the specifics lately,” he remarks, keeping the fact that he misses having Louis to himself for hours out of it.

Louis’s lips part in a tiny smile and he shakes his head imperceptibly, not unlike a parent does to their blissfully ignorant son. Harry doesn’t pay much mind to it.

“You could say that,” Louis agrees. “Also stuff and all.” It’s so ominous, but Harry doesn't dare ask for specifics, has a feeling it may have to do with a certain crush on an interrupting best friend he doesn’t want to remember.

“It keeps me awake and dead on my feet,” Louis adds as he rubs his eyes, yawn stretching out in ways that are too suggestive for Harry to take.

It feels like they’ve been here before, and they have, in a way, when they’d just come back from that godforsaken run Harry had screwed up. The situation is really different, but it’s still like they keep coming back to this. Just them and the night.

“I wish I could help more,” Harry laments, hands rubbing up and down his arms from the chill of the evening. “You guys work so hard, trying to get the whole scoop and perfecting the plan, makes me feel kinda useless.”

“Well, we can’t all just stand there and look pretty, babe,” Louis grins, feet coming out to shove Harry playfully. It also serves to distract him from what Louis has just said (wait, did he really call Harry pretty?!).

“No, but seriously,” Harry continues. “You should let me do something, I wanna help.”

Louis’s smile slowly falls off his face. Harry swallows audibly, hating the awkward silence that has fallen over them.

“We don’t-- we’re really trying to be as careful as we can, Harry.”  
Harry wants the sweet names back now, thanks.

“Okay,” Harry answers dumbly, trying to not show how disappointed he is. He’d thought he’d been doing so well, and Louis’s words completely shatter that, taking him back to his first feelings of helplessness and self pity. “I understand.”

Louis makes an irritated noise and shuffles closer, chair scraping against the floor loudly. He sighs. “No, you don’t really,” Louis huffs out, and suddenly Harry’s not as sad as he is intrigued, keeps quiet to see if Louis will explain.

“And I didn’t want to tell you, if I’m honest, but you give me those sad eyes and I can’t take it,” he continues, giving Harry a small smile before wrapping his hands around himself. Harry thinks he should brace for what’s coming next, whatever it is.

“A while ago, maybe a year or so, there were five of us,” Louis starts, voice so low Harry struggles to hear it. “Marcus and his type were really going after us then, and we didn’t know much.” He shrugs self deprecatory. “Bunch of kids with superpowers and inflated egos running around with no parents. Doesn’t take much to figure _something_ was about to happen.”

Louis’s shoulders slump, and Harry has never seen him look so vulnerable, doesn’t know if it’s his words or a mix of that and the melancholy of the night and its silence.

“They took us completely by surprise, fucking stupid that we were, using regular cellphones and all, practically invited them to our place.”

There’s a nasty edge to his voice, a hefty load of spite and anger turning the words so ominous that Harry’s hanging to the edge of his seat, sure of what happened next but needing Louis to say it.

“Adam didn’t even stand a chance,” Louis whispers out, and Harry has the strong urge to just hold him, tell him it was not his fault, that they’re just doing the best they can. Somehow, it feels like Louis needs to let it out, so Harry lets him continue, teeth biting down on his lip as Louis breathes harshly.

“We all tried to fight back, but it was the middle of the night and we were so scared,” Louis recalls, his face ghostly pale, eyes not at all in the present. “Niall got pretty hurt but Adam was too far gone for us to help him by the time we chased them out.”

“What happened to him?” Harry tentatively asks, holding in his breath.

“Fucking Fireballs got him square in the chest,” Louis spits out bitterly. “I watched him burn alive and couldn’t do a goddamn thing. None of us could.”

“Oh Lou,” is all Harry can say before he’s getting off his seat and pulling Louis into a hug. It’s not even about them being chest to chest and how hot it should be, the gesture too comforting for Harry to even think of that. Louis is his friend and he’s hurting, and by the way he’s gripping at Harry as much as Harry is to him, he’d say the gesture’s welcome.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry mumbles into Louis’s shoulder, not quite ready to let him go

“It’s okay,” Louis breathes out. “It’s in the past. I just wanted you to know why we’re being so annoying with it, maybe why we’re tough on you too.”

“Not annoying, I understand,” Harry assures him, letting Louis go once he begins to pull back. He definitely does not miss Louis’s warmth right away.

“Put away those sorry eyes then, I really _am_ fine Harold.”

Aaaand, he’s back to his sarcastic ways it seems. Harry should’ve known the heart to heart wouldn’t last for long. Not that he doesn’t like feisty, teasing Louis, it’s just that there had been something special about him being allowed to see Louis like that.

It seems like it’s enough bonding for today, as Louis grabs his glass and speaks.

“We should go back to bed.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees before he goes to get up and _it happens_.

He doesn’t even know how, really, but one minute he’s scooting his chair back and the next one he’s tripping over his own feet, gravity pulling him down and Louis catching him just in time for him to fall into his arms. Harry doesn't register it at first, mind dizzy with the sudden move, but when he does, oh boy.

Louis is right there, their noses a hair width apart eyes locked on each other, both their gazes piercing and bodies locked in position. Harry knows he should get up and apologize, but his mind is screaming to just kiss Louis. He’s so so close that it’s taking all his willpower not to do it, and he actually feels his resolve crumble the second Louis’s gaze falls to his lips. Is it--did he just? Louis actually wants to kiss him! He’s going to do it he’ll--

“Careful there,” Louis says, voice cutting through the tension like a terrible, terrible knife Harry could use to stab him right now. He knows a rejection when he sees it though, so Harry sucks his disappointment up (which is stupid really, he knows Louis likes Liam and would never want to kiss Harry instead) and takes a step back.

“Goodnight,” Harry quickly quips, turning around and practically running to his room.

No more dangerous night excursions for him, then.

*

“Are you sure he won’t get mad?” Harry asks nervously, hand gripping the spraypaint can tightly.

“Come on, babe! Where’s your adventurous spirit?” Louis shoots back, shaking his can and spraying the wall an alarmingly bright red. “Now be a good boy and pass me that can, come on, quick!”

Harry sighs and does. If this blows up in their faces and Zayn leaves them floating on the ceiling for a whole day, Harry’s only response will be Louis’s face; he can never say no to a pout and lovely blue eyes.

“What’s that even supposed to be?” Harry asks, stepping back in an attempt to understand the spraypainted shapes.

“What do you think?” Louis answers, playful smile on his lips and _oh._

It’s a big, multi colored dick, right on top of the wall Zayn had specifically claimed for a future mural. Louis has assured him it can be painted over and Zayn will still be able to use it, because if not, Harry would be much less thrilled than he is right now.

“Better keep your day job Lou,” he jokes, and has to duck in order to avoid being hit on the head by a flying can.

“Shut up and help me carry this stuff before he wakes up.”

Harry doesn’t mention that it’s nine in the morning, way before Zayn even peeks his head out his door, and helps Louis.

They stumble into Liam in the hallway that connects the rooms, and Harry can’t help but divert his eyes, knows he’s very likely to glare at him if he doesn’t. It’s not that he hates him, that wouldn’t be possible with how nice Liam is, it’s just that it’s hard to know Louis wants to kiss him and hold hands and do many other things that are as hot as infuriating to think about. Things he would never do with Harry.

“Hey boys,” Liam greets them, Louis smiling at him with the beauty of a thousand suns and Harry focusing really hard on the cans. They’re interesting alright? Look, safe for the environment and all, fascinating. “What’s got you up so early?”

“Nothing,” Louis replies, unfazed at the fact that they’re holding very incriminating spray paint cans and the fact that he’s chirpy at this hour is the deadliest giveaway. Harry knows for a fact that he hates getting up before ten on any given day and will stay in until you tickle him to death (don’t ask).

“Really?” Liam deadpans, rolling his eyes like only months of Louis can teach, and turning towards Harry. “You guys haven’t painted over my stuff, have you?”

“No, we haven’t,” Harry answers curtly, berating himself for being so short on Liam, who gives him an odd look, nosey shit that he is. Wait-- that’s not a nice thought at all, he chastises himself. Harry’s crush is getting seriously out of control.

“I’m going back to bed,” he informs both of them before shouldering past Liam and towards his door.He can’t have himself snapping at Liam like that, not after all he has done and is doing for him. Harry won’t let this stupid obsession make him into an ungrateful grump, he’s not like that.

_That bum in those trousers! Lord have mercy_

Gritting his teeth, Harry slams the door to his room with more force than strictly necessary and resolves to bury himself in the covers until any and all thoughts of Louis’ lust for Liam are forgotten. It takes him a while.

*

The next week and a half is hell.

Louis never stops thinking dirty things, even if all five of them are in a room, his brain simply rises above it all, completely unavoidable. Harry tries it all: loudly singing lyrics in his mind, focusing on the other boys, on the ceiling, on the new mural Zayn had painted over Louis’s beautiful creation. Nothing works, and Harry’s ready to walk up to Louis and demand he work out his sexual desires. The only thing stopping him is the awkwardness. And maybe also the tiny fear that it will lead to Louis admitting it to Liam and they’ll get married and have beautiful babies while Harry becomes a recluse with twenty cats.

Yeah, it’s been driving him _that_ crazy.

It’s especially hard this morning, Harry having spent the whole night up remembering the day’s golden phrases like _I want those fingers so bad_ and _I wonder how many kids he wants to have, I bet he’d be a great dad._ Yeah, they’ve even gone sappy now.

It’s so invasive and wrong Harry feels indecent by simply sitting there, hands wrapped around his mug as the group bustles around him. Niall’s attacking a bowl of cereal, Liam intently playing some game or other on the ipad and Louis arguing with the toaster over who knows what. Zayn’s the only calm one, eyes trained on the newspaper but occasionally glancing up to meet Harry’s eyes.

It’s almost like he knows Harry’s secret, his dirty, totally immoral thing he’s been accidentally doing, and the mere thought makes his cheeks flame up. Surely he knows. How could he not? Harry’s been practically avoiding Louis as much as he can lately, not to mention walking around with a stricken look on his face half the time. Zayn’s not exactly stupid.

“Can we talk?” Harry blurts out, almost mindlessly. Four pairs of eyes set on him.

“I mean Zayn and I, maybe later?” He clarifies, and Zayn gives him a long look, agreeing after a while.

“Sure.”

It’s not laced with surprise as it would have been had he not have been expecting it, and Harry’s terribly sure he knows now, is bracing himself for the terrible comments he ought to be preparing.

The rest of the boys eye Harry suspiciously, Louis holding the inquiring look the longest before he goes back to his breakfast, leaving Harry to catch the breath he’s been holding.

Once they’re both done, Zayn tilts his head towards his room and begins walking, Harry following him close behind and speaking as soon as the door shuts behind him.

“I didn’t mean to! I swear,” he begins with, needing first and foremost for him to understand Harry’s not a creep and he would really, really like to stay here please.

He doesn’t give time for Zayn to say anything in return.

“It just happened!” Harry continues, now pacing the room from one end to the other, hands gesturing wildly. He needs Zayn to understand. “We were there and the thought just zoomed into my mind before I could stop it and I’m so sorry, Zayn, I am.”

Now Zayn’s the one looking confused.

“What are you sorry for, Haz? There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Harry’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Nothing wrong? It’s an invasion of his privacy, Zayn. I’m such a bad person.”

“Harry,” Zayn’s tone is gentle, grounding him before he can build himself up into full panic mode. “I’m sure if you guys talk it out he won’t be bothered about it at all.”

He seems almost amused by Harry, and the thought alone jumbles his thoughts

“How could he not? I’m reading his intimate thoughts about Liam!”

“Liam?” Zayn asks, voice coming up as high as Harry’s. His puzzlement is on a whole new level now.

“Yes, Liam. Bulky, friendly guy? Louis’ crush?”

“You think Louis has a crush on Liam?” Zayn’s tone is getting more and more and more amused as Harry explains.

Harry nods.

Zayn bursts out in laughter, eyes turning into little slits and voice booming through the room. Add mocked to the list of Harry’s feelings now, alongside extreme confusion and exasperation. He really thought Zayn knew this stuff, is kind of regretting having admitted to it.

“This is gold,” Zayn wheezes out once he’s calmed down, hand coming up to wipe a stray tear off his eye.

“It’s all he thinks about, and I can’t help but hear it all, Zayn,” Harry clarifies, feeling like he should explain himself. “It’s very explicit and not very nice to hear.”

“Oh I’m sure it’s explicit,” Zayn comments mysteriously, and Harry is beyond done with him at the moment.

“I thought you knew about it and were going to tell me off,” Harry admits. “What did you think I was going to tell you if not this, then?”

“Nevermind,” Zayn shakes his head, taking a few steps so he’s closer to Harry.

“Look Haz,” he says, voice much more stern and serious than before. “Just talk to him, all right? It’s not as bad as you think.”

Harry doesn’t quite believe him, and he leaves the room with a heavier heart than he woke up with this morning.

*

Harry likes to think he’s good person. He doesn’t lie much, smiles at babies, and helps old ladies. Still, he has his limits, and lying in bed while a stream of dirty thoughts pours itself into it in the middle of the night might just be it.

_So tight around me, keeping still like a good boy..._

He turns around in bed and covers his head with the pillow, huffing out in exasperation as the thoughts keep on rolling in. Trying to remember all the arguments he’s come up with to avoid facing Louis so far, he grits his teeth and tries to bear through it, but he’s only human (and also maybe about to get an awkward boner because of Louis’s thoughts. What? They’re fucking hot).

Except the image that follows the last thought--Harry’s been getting better at sensing bigger thoughts and clearer visuals with practice that really isn’t coming in handy right now-- is a very graphic depiction of a dick entering an ass and no, _nope_ , Harry needs to do something now or he’ll face life trauma.

Begrudgingly getting up and rubbing some of the sleep off his eyes--can’t be too sleepy when you tell your crush you hear their sex fantasies-- Harry steps into the hallway, can’t help but think how different this time is from the last.

Louis’ door isn’t very far from the room they’ve assigned Harry, but he’s reluctant to get to it, keeps thinking about how bad of an idea this really is. He can’t go on like this though, feeling guilty and mildly turned on all the time, so when he gets to the door he stops and counts to three before knocking.

A muffled curse reaches his ears before Louis’s voice whisper shouts “Who is it?”

“It’s me Lou, can I come in?” Harry asks uncertainly, really not wishing to have this conversation where others could hear it. It already is too embarrassing to handle, he doesn’t need Liam to come in and make it ten times worse.

“It’s the middle of the night, Harry, can we leave it for tomorrow?” Comes the annoyed reply, Harry huffing out a breath. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, and Harry’s not too happy when someone interrupts his _alone time_ but he really needs this to be over.

“It’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Fucking hell,” Louis spits out, low but still audible as a series of steps can be heard. The lock clicks and the door opens, revealing a very obviously worked up Louis. Be it from anger or arousal (Harry’s dick doesn’t seem to care which) he’s panting slightly, hair sticking out everywhere and mouth bitten red. Harry needs this done now, before his future sex fantasies get even worse.

“What do you want?” Louis puffs out, heading back to his bed once Harry’s stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“I, uh, need to tell you something?” Harry’s voice goes up at the end of the rambly sentence, his nerves getting the best of him. There’s just no easy way of doing this. “It’s kinda awkward,” he continues, huffing out a small, nervous laugh. Were this not him, he’d be on the floor cracking up, but alas, it is and it sucks.

“Well,” Louis replies, eyebrows going up in a way Harry’s known to be either amused or very done with the situation. “Just spit it out, babe, it’s not exactly a social hour.” He’s pretty sure it’s ‘very done’ right now.

“I’vebeenhearingyourdirtythoughtsinmyheadandcouldyoupleasestop,” Harry spits out all at once, words mumbling together in the rush to get them out.

“What?” Louis asks, face scrunched up in confusion.

Harry sighs and braces himself for the repeat, eyes darting to the ceiling and everywhere else but Louis.

“I’ve been accidentally listening to your dirty thoughts in my head,” Harry clarifies, feeling his face heat up. “It was a mistake, I swear! But it keeps happening and could you please do something?”

When Harry dares a glance at Louis he finds him staring at Harry with his mouth open, hand barely covering it. Harry tenses up as a wave of mortification invades his senses, fearing he’s fucked this up forever and he’ll lose Louis as a friend, will have to leave the group and move out and never see them again.

“I’m so sorry? I really didn’t mean to but they were _so graphic_ I simply couldn’t come up and say it and-”

Louis cuts him off, voice verging on horrified. “Since when have you been hearing them?”

“A while.”

Louis’s face drops, Harry winces and silence falls until Louis’s voice cuts through it.

“Shit,” he breathes out.

“Yeah.”

Louis takes a deep breath and stands up, walking away from Harry and playing with his hands. Harry’s ears prickle with anticipation and fear of what’ll come next. He does feel lighter for having said it, but Louis’s demeanor is practically unreadable.

“I am so, so sorry Haz,” he starts out, drawing the words out as he paces around the room slowly, the shadows created by the bedside lamp hiding and showing him as they please.

Before Harry can interject, he’s going on.

“Those things were so wrong of me to think of and I’m embarrassed as fuck that you heard them,” Louis continues, working himself up into a frenzy as Harry tries to interject.

“No, _oh my god_ , don’t be silly it was my fault!” He manages to get in before Louis goes off again, hands waving around. It’s kind of really confusing and mildly scary.

“This is so bad! How can you even stay this calm?” Louis urges, turning around to face Harry. “You’ve been listening the whole time and you’re still here and trying to be nice? Only you Harry.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s not like it’s wrong of you to think that and I’m not telling you to stop it’s just-- be quieter?”

“Oh but that would be so creepy of me, with you knowing and all.” Louis stresses, hands going to his hair, clutching it nervously. Harry kinda wants to run away.

Then, as Harry senes a big realization, Louis’s face falls and he looks straight into Harry’s eyes, dread dripping from his thoughts. “I guess you won’t wanna train together anymore, which is fine, I guess. This is fucking terrible already, can’t blame you for wanting some space if you do.”

Harry shakes his head so fast he gets dizzy for a second. He’s not about to lose his only alone time with Louis, not for some sex fantasies or the insomnia they cause.

“It’s not _that_ bad, Lou, I’ll survive.”

“Yeah,” Louis snorts, blush deepening. When he speaks next it’s sarcastic and bitter, exactly what Harry’s been expecting all along. “Knowing how bad I like and want you when you clearly don’t feel the same way. _Great life_.”

Harry’s heart stops.

“Want _me_? I think you mean Liam.”

He’s not letting himself believe Louis truly meant that, because he knows it’s terribly late and they’re both tired and speaking nonsense. His heart doesn’t seem to know though; it’s beating at twice the speed, and there’s a nagging feeling of hope threatening to take over him.

“What?” Louis asks. “Why would you-- _oh for fuck’s sake_ ,” he swears and then he’s striding over to Harry and pulling him in by his shirt, lips pressed together into what’s easily the best kiss Harry’s ever had. Instinctively, he gets him closer by the waist, hands hugging Louis’s lower back so easily a spike of arousal joins the overall tingling in his veins.

It’s a simple press of lips and yet he’s breathless, tummy turning and craving more. Harry doesn't want to let go, but as soon as his lungs scream for air and they pull away, a barrage of questions make themselves present.

“What about Liam?”

Louis huffs out in exasperation, clutching Harry tighter and keeping him temptingly close. “Fuck Liam! I’ve been thinking about us fucking for weeks and you know it and ask about him?” Sudden dread fills Louis’s mind. “Do you fancy him or something?”

Harry is literally the stupidest human alive. “I thought you did!”

“What?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to feel infuriated, though he gets echoes of confusion from Louis’s thoughts too.

“Your thoughts were about me this whole time?” He wonders, blush crawling up his neck as he remembers some of the more explicit ones.

Wincing, Louis nods. “Yeah, you’ve been pretty much the only thing in my mind for ages, but I didn’t think you’d want me back.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve had blue balls for over a month now, with you filling my mind everyday with filth.”

They both let silence fall for a second, before Louis tugs on Harry’s shirt, it still tangled in his fingers. Then, an image of Harry on his knees for Louis abruptly enters his mind as Louis smirks, a question implied in his sneaky eyes.

“Yes please,” Harry breathes out, surging down to capture his lips in a kiss.

*

The first thing Harry thinks when he wakes up is that he’s very comfortable. Warmth surrounds him from all sides, and there’s a nice weight on his back, plus the deep feeling of satisfaction thrumming through his veins as the night before plays through his mind. Mutual blowjobs with Louis is hardly something to scoff at, and he’s always liked waking up next to someone, how it’s very intimate and frankly lovely.

However, it only takes him a few extra seconds to realize he’s hard, cock tenting up obviously seeing as he’s got nothing on him besides a pair of boxers and a sheet. Louis doesn’t seem to have realized, is breathing evenly and calmly on his ear, and Harry thanks the gods for that. It’s already embarrassing enough that he got things so wrong between them without adding his terribly evident lust for Louis on top of that. Don’t get him wrong, he knows he and Louis obviously want each other or else last night was _very_ good acting, but he still doesn’t wanna come off too strongly, is fearful that he’s read too much into it. Louis could only want casual sex, after all (Harry's heart lurches at the thought, but his dick does like the idea of seeing that bum naked on a regular basis, plus he does want more than blowjobs from Louis, he’s not about to pass that up).

Wanting to take advantage of Louis’s unawareness, Harry starts to get up slowly, trying not to make noise or to disturb Louis too much. Then, he hears a drawn out moan of ‘no'.

“Stay,” Louis urges him, voice gruff with sleep in a way that really isn’t helping. “Too early to move.”

Harry stops his movements and lies down on his back because he really can’t say no to that, not when Louis rearranges around him and is so warm and cute. His hair is sticking out everywhere and his features are soft, eyes half open as they stare into Harry’s. It’s a bit too intimate when they still have things to talk about, seeing as how having Louis’s dick in his mouth doesn’t solve weeks of miscommunication, but the morning’s nice and Harry’s still hard so he clears his throat instead, looking up and praying to the gods that he’s not blushing.

Louis moves his hand to rest on top of Harry’s belly, and it’s so close and yet so far he has to hold in a sigh.

“Someone’s awake,” Louis remarks in his sleepy voice, the top of his hand brushing against Harry’s dick. Not as subtle as he thought, then. He’s definitely blushing now as he tries to think of an excuse that won’t embarrass him further.

After two seconds of Harry’s nonsensical mumbling Louis simply shushes him. .

“It’s okay, stop stressing,” Louis says, hand treading dangerously low. It’s also important to note there’s scruff on his face this morning, and Harry’s given up on life and his dignity already when it’s not even noon.

“Not stressing just-- we can keep sleeping, it’s okay.”

Louis pauses long enough for Harry to wonder if he’s fallen back asleep, but then he speaks, the sleep in his voice fading away.

“Y’know what i think?” Louis asks, fingers rhythmically tapping on Harry’s lower stomach.

“What?”

“I think you’re a shit mind reader, babe,” he continues, voice giving away his teasing mood. That plus the fact that he’s got a coy smile playing on his lips, eyes big and blue and trained on Harry.

“Oh really?”

“Yep,” Louis nods, hand creeping slowly lower. “Can’t even guess how much I want to eat you out right now. It’s a tragedy.”

He’s speaking nonchalantly while keeping Harry on his toes, his words enough to get his blood pumping and his dick harder. He’s not doing much though, his hand resting a hair above where Harry wants it, and it’s so frustrating yet thrilling Harry’s left staring at him in awe and poorly concealed lust.

“Maybe you can show me, then,” Harry suggests, hating the cliche in his words but hoping they’ll work nonetheless. They don’t, though they do make Louis laugh.

“That would be too easy now, wouldn’t it? I’d get you off right now,” Louis says, inching closer so that his lips brush against Harry’s neck as they form the words. “Just like this,” he continues, taking a loose hold of Harry’s cock and giving him a few fast strokes, the sudden relief almost making him cry out.

“Please Louis,” Harry begs, wanting to thrust upwards into the maddeningly insufficient touch.

“No merit in that though, is there?” Louis asks as he shifts, throwing a leg over Harry’s thighs and straddling him.

“C'mon,” Harry urges, not tolerating being like this any longer. “Don’t make me beg.”

Louis doesn’t bother with replying, rocks over Harry instead, the cleft of his bum dragging over Harry torturously slow. He’s everywhere, arms on either side of Harry’s face, biceps bulging as he holds himself up, face inches above Harry’s as he makes him moan, head to the side and neck bared enticingly. Lips are on it soon after and Harry tangles his fingers in Louis’s hair, uses the grip to keep him there and sucking on his skin as he gasps for air, the room too hot around him.

It’s addicting, having him so close, invading every sense with warm skin, feverish kisses and touches that turn ghostly at times though rough and eye-rolling good at others. It’s so much and not enough in the best way and Harry would be content to do this forever, wake up next to Louis and get him off, hear the way he moans high and whimpers as Harry gropes his bum, pushes him down so that the grind is harder.

They both groan at that, Louis biting down on Harry’s neck and thus making him shiver, the image of what they must look like right now, Harry with his neck covered in marks and Louis fitting into every crook of his body, wracking through his mind. He tries to convey it to Louis through his power, doesn’t know if it’s even worked until Louis suddenly stops his kissing and sucking and groans, hips grinding down in the best way.

“Fuck, Harry,” he pants into his neck, the warm puffs of air proof of how close they really are. “That’s so _hot_ , do it again.”

Harry, secretly pleased with showing off his skill and strangely aroused at how Louis is reacting to it, follows his commands, sends through the way he’s feeling right now, feverish and starved for anything Louis gives him. It works again, though this time it has Louis sticking a hand down his pants, grabbing at him with no finesse and pulling him off while muttering a string of curses. Harry can barely think, let alone use his power but he tries one more time just to show Louis how good he looks right now, flushed and panting as he works Harry’s cock with knowing touches.

It’s getting to be really good when they hear it, a large crash followed by a very loud ‘what the fuck’.

They both freeze, eyes wide as they look at each other, a silent second passing by as they wonder what on earth could have happened.  Harry doesn’t dare move, even if Louis’s hand has stilled over his dick in a too tight grip. He wouldn’t want to scare him away or do anything that might reveal this new development to the other boys (they have yet to talk about that since it’s somehow not dirty talk topic). Neither of them know what to do, and Harry’s about to ask Louis what he thinks when he speaks.

“It’s probably just nothing,” Louis says, leaning down to kiss Harry and effectively dismissing any further claim he might have. Harry can’t say he minds it though, not when Louis picks up right where he left and stops kissing him in order to trail kisses and bites down his chest, Harry remembering him saying something about eating him out.

Louis reaches the elastic of Harry’s boxers and looks up, smiling coyly with the knowledge of how much Harry wants him. It’s hard to believe he’s not the mind reader as he pulls the pair down and ignores Harry’s cock in favour of latching on to a spot of sensitive skin, Harry’s toes curling and hands grasping for the sheets.

“Louis,” Harry hisses, loving the attention but wanting it elsewhere, namely his poor, neglected cock.

“What happened?” Rings Niall’s voice this time, still rough and sleepy yet alarmed in a way that makes Louis pause again, lips warm where they rest on Harry’s hip.

A few unintelligible mumbles that neither of them can decipher later, there’s a knock on the door that has them both snapping out of their position and scrawling for the clothes on the floor, Louis swearing loud enough for Harry to pick up.

“What is it?” Louis yells out, roughly grabbing his pants and shoving them on.

“The window’s smashed and there’s stuff everywhere,” Liam informs him, and Harry inadvertently, in a rush, the edge in his voice tangible.

Niall’s mumbles start up again.

“No one can find Harry either, apparently. Shit, come on Lou.”

Harry and Louis exchange glances, frantic eyes attempting to decide what to do. In the end, the urgency in Liam’s voice seems to do it for Louis, who finishes putting on his shirt and spares no glance at Harry as he swings the door open and rushes out. As the door hits the wall with the force of the pull, Harry’s eyes meet Liam’s, and before any questions can be asked he’s shaking his head and bypassing him for the lounge.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice loud enough for the other boys to hear as he reaches the window in question.

“Oh thank fuck,” Niall breathes out, reaching out to Harry and pulling him into a quick hug before they both turn towards the glass.

The thing is, it’s not just the window. Their things are scattered all through the room, cans of spray paint and cushions mingled on the wooden floor, and every time Harry sets his eyes on a new spot he finds more chaos there. It’s never ending and terrifying enough that Harry has to lie down, mind replaying the last time someone broke into his house not too many months ago. It feels kind of how Harry imagines his power does to other people, like an invasion of their privacy, an unwelcome visitor in their safe space, only this could potentially lead to much worse things than Harry knowing someone’s secret feet kink or such.

“You okay there Harry?” Zayn asks, noticing his position and laying his hand on Harry’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring pat.

Harry breathes in deeply. “Yeah, it just shook me up a bit, it’s fine,” he answers as he shakes his head, fruitlessly trying to dissipate some of the panic.

“You’re not hurt though, are you?” Liam intervenes, voice loud and ringing through the room seeing as he hasn’t approached Harry at all, is still by the window trying to figure stuff out. Harry wishes he had any idea of what to do right now.

“No, no, just freaking out,” he answers as nonchalantly as possible, not wanting to add his feelings to the list of problems they’ve got going on today. One breaking and entering is enough for one day, thanks.

Harry thinks he catches a glimpse of Louis looking at him, but it’s gone as soon as he reassures Liam that there’s no need to worry, it’s nothing a bit of breathing can’t sort out.  At least everyone's too worried by the window to question what Harry was doing in Louis' room, so that settles one worry. Liam gives him a long look and nods in the end, going back to his animated talk with Louis.

They’re speaking in rushed tones over by a corner while Niall and Zayn have formed their own group, words being spoken so quickly Harry feels left out, a feeling he’s forgotten as of late. He’s blended in with them so much that the assault feels personal, that the warehouse feels like home and him not being included in the conversation is a painful reminder that no, he isn’t truly one of them, or at least he’s not yet.

Instead of moping about it, though, he gets up after a bit goes into the cupboard, getting a broom, figuring they’ll tell him what went on when they figure it out, and he might as well do something productive in the meantime. Plus, sweeping has always been therapeutic in a way for him, which is exactly what he needs right now. Harry can’t really help but feel guilty instead of calm when in place of wondering about what happened, his mind goes to imagining what c _ould’ve happened_ with Louis had they not been interrupted. As he cleans up some of the mess a smile plays on his lips. Even if it all goes to shit now, at least he got to kiss Louis, and that’s more than enough for him. (Not really though, but it does make the tightness in his chest loosen up a little, so he scoops and pretends in the meantime.)

After about an hour, they gather around and the general theory goes as follows: someone from Marcus’ group found their location somehow, Liam thinking it was the phone and Louis blaming it on the time they’ve remained unmoving, and they’ve done a ‘run’ of their own, scouting out their place for information.

“Couldn’t deeply hack our system though,” Niall announces smugly in between Liam’s debrief, highfiving Zayn and patting his laptop as if congratulating it for a job well done. To each their coping mechanism, Harry guesses.

“What does it mean for us though?” Harry asks, tensing up slightly when Louis clears his throat, remembering how much they really need to talk right now.

“Basically, we have to move fast and act quick,” Louis explains, eyes a steely blue as they get whenever he discusses strategy.

“So that we still have the element of surprise,” Harry reasons out loud, trying to follow his train of thought so that they’re all on the same page.

“Exactly,” Louis says, sparing only a look and nod for Harry before continuing. “Our big attack should be sometime in the next ten days, no more than that.”

“We’re not nearly ready,” Zayn protests, shoulders squared and jaw set. He hasn’t spoken much as the morning has passed, but his words sound like all of the group’s silenced thoughts.

“We don’t have a choice though,” Liam adds. “It’s not what we planned but it’s going to have to do.”

The whole group nods in understanding, each boy processing the fact that they’re going to have to fight as they are, mostly trained but still slightly unprepared, hoping that fear will turn into ass kicking adrenaline and that fate is on their side.

“Niall, Zayn, show me the location of the base we’re after, please. We need to start figuring a plan out,” Liam asks as the three of them break the naturally formed group huddle they had going on and leave Louis and Harry alone.

“Lou, wait, what about my training?” Harry says before Louis can leave. He can’t ask the question he really wants to voice, so he settles for the second best: his preferred hours of the day.

“I think it’s better for us to do it apart now...Haz,” Louis answers, seemingly adding the ‘Haz’ later as if to soften the blow. His eyes are trained anywhere but on Harry, and he would get a slap had Harry not been so unsure on what ground they’re standing. He knows Louis pretty well, but he hasn’t ever seen him like this, tense and fierce.

“What? But it had been working so well!”

Louis sighs. “I just have a lot going on right now, Harry, can't deal with all of it at once,” He says. _I don’t have time for you_ is what Harry hears.

Dumbstruck, Harry only manages a slow ‘okay’ before Louis walks away, a million things unsaid between them and all, somehow, seemingly resolved. Fate sure has a hell of a timing for Harry’s life, that’s for sure.

*

The next two days are certainly...something. Louis barely talks to Harry, surrounds himself in work so intensely that they never even get a chance to talk. It’s not like Harry doesn’t try, but every time he goes near Louis he’s invaded with this feeling of dread that just won’t go away, plus Liam or Zayn are always around him, and Harry knows whatever they’re talking about is much more important. If he has to prioritize, strategizing to not be ruthlessly killed has to come just above his love life, even when it involves Louis. Just about every hour is filled with chatter about how they’re preparing, or status updates on charts and inside information, and by the time meals come they’re all too tired to do much. Harry hasn’t felt this tired since forever.

Still, he has to give himself some credit, since with all considered, he’s made quite a progress.

“Fucking sick Harry,” Niall exclaims, throwing a fist up in the air and then letting himself fall back onto the floor, lying there as Harry grins.

They’ve been working on Harry reaching memories that aren’t being actively remembered or thought about, and he’s been getting better by the hour, picking up the skill much faster than he ever developed anything else about it. It’s obviously not because his instructor is now Niall, whose lips aren’t sinful and mouth isn’t quirked up in a smirk half the time like Louis’. No, not the reason at all.

“You’re making it easy, don’t lie,” Harry replies, shoving Niall’s leg playfully.

“Nah, you’re just getting better mate, give yourself some credit,” Niall says, sitting up with a sigh and rubbing his stomach pensively.

Harry speaks before Niall even opens his mouth again.

“Dinner’s at eight and we’re having pasta.”

Niall grins. “Best power in the world, swear to God!”

Harry just laughs and shakes his head, trying not to sneak a glance at the other end of the room, where Louis and Liam are going over a list of something or other. Of course, he fails, and when his eyes meet Louis’, he doesn’t feel like laughing anymore.

*

It feels like a deja vu when Harry can’t seem to fall asleep at night, tossing and turning but with no foreign thoughts to justify it. He hasn’t made any more power advances in the whole day, feeling tense enough on his own and not needing any more stress than the one currently plaguing his thoughts. Still, he’s restless, not wanting to accept what has happened during the latter part of this week.

A couple days before he’d been happy, surrounded by Louis and filled with hope for what that could mean for them. Now, he’s all full of confused thoughts and rejection, the whiplash from the change making his thoughts scramble and body high strung. He just can’t leave things like this, not when he should be focusing on getting his power to the best he can, but instead can only think of Louis’s stupid dismissal.

This train of thought has him standing in front of Louis’ door yet again, two whole days having passed and the situation still basically the same. Harry is getting tired of being confused by Louis all of the time.

“Louis, are you awake?” Harry asks, stepping into the room cautiously. It’s not exactly the most respectful thing to do, but Louis really couldn’t have thought Harry would be content with his shitty excuse, not after the night they spent together.

Harry listens to Louis’s thoughts for a second, getting a scrambled mess of exclamation marks and anxiety before having to focus on what is actually being said.

“I’m trying to rest, Harry,” Louis huffs out, his voice coming from somewhere in front of Harry, the lights not yet turned on. “You should, too, busy days ahead and all.”

His voice is so frigid, completely polar opposite of what Harry _knows_ his thoughts are that’s infuriating, makes Harry want to grab Louis and shake some sense into him.

“Come on,” Harry urges, wanting to see Louis but not daring to reach for the light switch. Somehow, he doesn’t think seeing him in his sleep ruffled state (reminding him of how they woke up that morning, how lovely and at home he had felt) will help the matter.

“I just want to talk.”

“Well, what about?” Louis says, turning on a small bedside lamp so Harry can now see him sitting up on his bed, awake and snippy enough for Harry to call bulshit on his attempts at sleep. Louis is as messed up over this as Harry, and his intents to cover it up are maddening.

“Maybe the fact that we hooked up the other night?” Harry asks, bewildered as to why this all has to be so hard. Fairytales really skip out on explaining what comes after the kiss, and it’s nothing like the happily ever after Harry had been expecting between them.

Louis shoves the covers off and sits on the edge of his bed, far away and eyes still hidden from Harry’s. His gaze is firmly trained on the floor, and it just adds to Harry’s frustration.

“It was nothing, Harry, just forget about it.” Louis answers, eyes finally meeting Harry's, except they’re devoid of any emotion, hardened in a way that is purely strategical.

Instead of screaming at him for being unreasonable and nurturing this new hate he has for Louis’ ways, Harry tries rationality first, unfolding his angry fists and shifting his weight into a casual stance.

“You realize I can literally read your mind right now, don’t you?”

He takes a step closer, eyes catching the way Louis tenses up, shoulders drawn tight and mouth made into a hard line. His thoughts are running a hundred miles per hour, and his panic seeps into Harry’s own thoughts through every memory he has stored of them together. It’s such a shame when they both know how good they are, can vividly remember how loose they had been that night, bodies moving against each other in perfect sync. This is all a waste, and the sooner Louis can see it, the faster they can get to repeating those events and trotting off into the sunset together.

“I _know_ you don’t really believe that Lou, and I don’t mean to be intrusive or anything, but don’t be so fucking dense, c’mon,” Harry urges, finally reaching the bed and watching the way Louis suddenly jumps up, eyes on the other end of the room, frantic and poorly detached all at once. Except Harry doesn’t let him get too far, manages to snatch up his wrist so that they’re forced to face each other, air suddenly not enough to keep Harry’s head from feeling woozy.

“Harry, don’t,” Louis pleads, and Harry can see his resolve fading, gets a mix of determination to stay put and a tug of the heart from his thoughts. “This isn’t a good time for this, and you know it.”

“Who cares about timing, though?” Harry says, still close enough that he can lower his voice so that the words reach only Louis, still close enough to touch but far away in every other sense.

“I really like you, Louis, and I think you do too,” Harry pauses, taking a deep breath as to not get too caught up. This isn’t a goodbye or a sad scene in a movie, or at least not yet, not if Harry can help it. “So don’t make things harder than they need to be, please.” Harry’s words come awfully close to a beg, which isn’t really surprising, considering they’ve spent weeks mooning over each other and a wonderful night, and he’s not about to let that go to waste. This isn’t something common for Harry, and he knows, deep down, that it may only be a once in a lifetime deal.

“You think I _want_ to keep myself away from you?” Louis half-shouts, the steely determination seeping back into his eyes, hardening every feature Harry’s spent weeks memorizing. “I’m not that stupid Harry, I know this could make us both really happy, but at what cost?” He shakes his hand off Harry’s grip, using it to grab a fistful of his hair, huffing out repeatedly before he continues.

“We’ve got people coming for us, and they won’t care about any of this when they’re tearing us to shreds. I don’t want to watch you _die_.” Louis says the last part in a whisper, eyes falling shut for a moment as Harry gets an image of his bloody self, lifeless and slumped over Louis’ arms.

“I don’t want to watch _any_ of the boys lose their life because I was too caught up in romantic bullshit to realize how serious this all is. So no, we cannot be together right now or maybe _ever,_ because life is shit to us sometimes, and Marcus and his kind is what we get.”

Sometime in the middle of Louis’ explanation tears have begun falling over Harry’s cheeks, and a sob escapes him as Louis delivers the last line, the finality of it spurring Harry to try one last time.

“Don’t do this, Louis,” he pleads, slowly closing the distance Louis has put between them and raising his hand so that he can cup Louis’s cheek. His eyes are forcefully closed, and Harry can tell this is painful for him too, feels his own heartache twice fold as he senses Louis’.

It’s almost impossible to resist kissing him one last time, when they’re stripped raw and it feels so much like the last chance they’ll ever have. So Harry pulls him in softly, presses his lips against Louis’ tenderly, tears transferring cheeks so it looks like they’re both crying, and maybe they are, just in different ways. It takes all that Harry has to not slide his other hand over Louis’ waist, pull him close enough that reality will float away for them to exist outside of it, happy as they could’ve been. Instead, he pulls away, stroking Louis damp cheek with his thumb and thinking of what on earth he can say now, when all they’ve had between them is gone before they could even relish it properly.

In the end, Harry says the only thing left on his mind besides sadness, and it’s accompanied by a dry, humourless laugh.

“So ironic that the thing that breaks us only makes you better, Lou. Only you.”

Louis’s shoulder shake, be it due to the way he looks close to tears or a terrible matching laugh, and Harry will never hear words more loaded with regret than the last thing Louis whispers into the night.

“I’m sorry.”

Me too, Harry thinks, me too.

*

Harry comes to a couple of conclusions during the time he’s holed up in his room, bundled up in every blanket he could find and staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours. It’s hard not to think is the thing, the walls too bland to keep his mind from running and his power too much when he’s got enough on his mind already. The off white of the walls is the perfect base for his thoughts to grow on, some of them turning out like beautiful, flower covered vines and the others like dead branches clawing at him. Mostly, he grows weedy conclusions, thoughts he doesn’t want to come but that get nurtured by the very essence of what he’s absolutely _not_ trying to think about.

The first of these conclusions is that he doesn’t just lust after Louis, he’s actually in love with him. It should come as an Earth shattering realization, when really, he’s always suspected it, and the silent hours have been enough to confirm it. Harry finds himself missing the bubbly presence that Louis had become over the last few weeks, more than their kisses or touches, and it’s maddening to realize how much you crave something when it’s gone. Harry tries not to think about it too much, lest he projects it into Louis’ mind or something, which would just be awkward and embarrassing for both parts.

A clean break is what they need, except they _must_ be on good terms with each other to fight alongside one another, which brings Harry to conclusion number two: he has to learn to be okay with it. The time of not-so-sneaky glances and soft touches is done, no matter how much his heart aches at the thought of never feeling Louis under him again, or kissing his terribly tempting mouth again. They’ve got actual problems, and having all this heartache only to be defeated in the end would just be a waste. Louis isn’t wrong, Harry’s got to focus, so he vows to do that, to train until he’s one hundred percent sure that he can handle it and won’t let the guys down. He can’t have a repeat of the run; he won’t put them in that much danger ever again if he can help it. He cares about them all so much at this point that having anything happen would be disastrous, even worse than if they hadn’t become friends so quick.

With a straight face and his mind set on it, Harry then ventures out of the room a whole day and a half after having his heart broken. Sure, the others had come in to check on him, but he’d either given them an excuse or pretended to be asleep, so he hasn’t exactly faced them yet. Harry puts on his best face, but the others must know something has gone down, for as soon as he steps into the common room, heads turn to watch him with sympathy.

“Everything okay?” Liam asks,

“I’m good, just needed some rest,” Harry says, strolling over to where Niall and Zayn are at the kitchen table discussing the layout of the building which they must break into. Harry knows for a fact that they haven’t been told anything about what went down exactly, but they must have an idea, with how obvious Harry had been about his crush and the way he'd emerged from Louis' room the other day. It's not that hard to put two and two together and questions aren't something he can deal with right now.

There’s a huge blueprint of the place they’re apparently attacking. Harry’s known about it for a while, but it’s a whole different thing to see it all mapped out in front of him, crosses and circles indicating their every movement. It’s slightly nerve-wracking, to see it so tangible and real, almost like a repeat of the broken window a few days back.

Taking a seat next to them, Harry clears his throat.

“Okay, so what we've got so far is this," Liam starts, pointing to a group of five X's surrounded by arrows. "We're gonna split up, Niall, Zayn and me heading this way," he traces over an arrow pointing left before continuing, "and you and Louis going the other, that way we can hit on multiple points, face them by sections so it's not complete suicide."

Harry's so caught up trying to make sense of all the markings on the map that he almost misses the most important information Liam has just given him; He's paired with Louis, and the mere thought sends his brain into overdrive, the million things Harry would prefer over that popping up. Yes, he's got to learn to be okay with it, and he will, just not to the point where he's going to be working alongside him for what's maybe the most crucial moment in Harry's life. Whether they win this or not decides if they're going to be prosecuted the rest of their lives by Marcus and his team or not, and Harry's not going to risk it by thinking of Louis (again). But Harry's not going to be ready to look at him and feel nothing, not after a mere few days, and if he's learnt anything by being with the guys, it’s that he needs to trust his instincts. They told him he'd fuck up the run and he did; that's not to be repeated.

"Actually, can we switch so that I'm with Niall?" Harry asks, catching with a wince the way every pair of eyes settles on him with mild pity. He's having none of that. He's been dumped, but it's not the end of the world, even if it feels a bit like it.

"You know, since we've been training together," Harry adds anyways, blush blooming on his cheeks at the need for reassurance that this is not about Louis. As if anything is his life hasn't been about Louis for the past months.

Liam hesitates for a second, raking over the map and muttering to himself before shaking his head. "It won't work if we do it that way,"  he denies, Harry's stomach dropping. "Niall and Zayn need to be together in order to figure out the computer stuff, and I've got to get them in there."

"Sorry Harry, but that's the best way in. We've looked at them all," Zayn backs, and Harry's about to speak again when they're joined by the very voice Harry dreads to hear.

"Figured it all out, these guys," Louis saunters in, dressed in skin tight jeans and a simple white shirt that should not be as appealing to Harry as it is. "Truly genius, if I do say so myself. Let’s not ruin it four days before showtime, yeah?"

"That's not what I meant, Louis," Harry comments, trying and failing to keep the bite out of his tone. He's not really mad at Louis for what went down, it's just that he doesn't appreciate being made to sound like a crybaby about this matter, plus he's got a lot of strong feelings for Louis, and they do say there's a fine line between love and hate after all.

 "I just think I'd be better off with someone else," Harry adds, not being able to resist making that comment, even if it sounds like complete bullshit to his ears. There's no one else in the world he'd rather have to his side, but when that person shuts you down before you could even properly know what that's like, you pick yourself up and move on.

"Not fucking likely," Louis mutters to himself, except he's close enough for Harry to hear, head snapping up and breath catching on his throat as his eyes meet Louis'. He doesn't mean to make a scene at all, so it's good that Niall clears his throat before he can properly process what Louis just said and do something ridiculous like kiss him right then and there.

“It’ll all work out, lads,” Niall reassures them all, wrapping one arm around Louis and the other over Harry’s shoulder. “We’ll all be free birds in a week, and then we can go get drunk in Cabo and do fuck else for a month.”

He’s grinning from ear to ear, making it impossible for any of them to resist smiling too and joining in on the group hug. It’s the closest Harry has ever felt to them, and even if he’s got his unattainable love by him and bony elbows poking him on his sides, he’s actually _in_ something. He’s finally got something that he cares about, not like stupid uni courses or friends that pop up only when they need something from him. This is an actual group of people that he cares deeply for and, besides his family, he hasn’t experienced this before, this need to keep them safe. It’s heartwarming, and as they stay huddled close together, Harry can’t help but think that even if it all goes to hell when they face Marcus and his group in a few days, at least he’s got this; four incredible friends and the knowledge of what loving someone really means.

*

When the time finally comes, Harry doesn’t know what to feel or even think. He knows the emotions that are going through the other guys; he can now easily tell the adrenaline spike is Niall’s, the cold and calculative wave that is  Zayn’s, and can differentiate Liam’s onset of braveness from Louis’ determination. They’re all in his mind, taking up the space of his own thoughts so well he’s begun to feel like them, blood pumping and mind racing. He’s progressed to walking from one side of the room to the other, the empty apartment across the lab’s hideout they’ve taken up surprisingly large.

“Two minutes ‘til go time,” Liam informs them from where he’s slumped over a computer, screen covered in red dots and beeping signals that cause Harry to take a deep breath.

He’s been heavily involved with the plan these last few days, so he knows what is about to happen and how he has to proceed, everything that can possibly help them succeed. It’s nothing like the last time, and yet he does have some residual hesitation, a frail voice in the corner of his brain telling him he’ll fuck it up all again and these four boys that he’s come to love in different ways will just be gone because of it. It’s a push and pull, the part of him that feels ready and confident in his newfound power and the bit that will always hesitate, that spews out bullshit about him not being ready, or capable, or good enough to even be standing besides these four.

“Okay guys, gather ‘round, let’s go over the plan once more,” Liam calls.

They all come together in a circle, the time for idle thinking over as the seriousness of the situation fully settles, faces stony as they wait for someone to speak. The most obvious choice is Louis, who begins talking without prompting from the rest, his authority frightening and extremely hot at the same time, though Harry only lets himself feel the first one.

“You guys will go first,” Louis says, turning towards Niall and Zayn slightly. “Taking the left side, Liam will get you into the building where the control panels are. Shut down all the cameras and wait for me and Harry.”

“Remember the signal?” Liam asks Harry, who nods, the many times they’ve repeated and practiced this back at the warehouse proving useful.

“Then we just make our way towards Marcus and Niall will take care of him.”

It’s the least glamorous part of the plan but Niall simply nods, having come to terms with it in the past few days. Saving people also means taking some out, and though they’re trying to not make this violent ( They haven’t even contemplated using guns for it, just their powers) the only way this will all end is with Marcus gone. Then it’s getting the talents out, calling the police for the fake lab facade, and letting the credits roll.

“Remember, without him there is no further threat, so let’s try not to land many people in the hospital,” Louis reminds them.

“Aw, but that’s the best part!” Niall fake pouts, and the group shares a small laugh, the nerves too much to fully let themselves go.

“We’ll all meet up at the van later,” Liam finishes up after checking his watch, a glowing thirty seconds displayed on the screen. “Good luck guys.”

“I don’t want to see any of you idiots spill blood in my car so be careful,” Louis warns as the group dismembers, the anticipation in the room growing and growing.

Niall and Zayn walk towards the door, one jumping in his spot to relieve the stress and the other moving a small piece of lint on the floor idly, power needing some sort of release. They’re all time bombs, wound up so much the second they get in there it’s gonna be intense, and Harry can just hope it ends up well.

Liam joins them after shutting down the computer and shoving it in his backpack, the three of them giving Harry and Louis one last glance and thumbs up before they’re out, leaving the room just to them. It’s silent to the point it verges on awkward, Harry training his eyes anywhere but on Louis, who’s randomly appearing and disappearing at this point. There’s nothing else to do now but wait the two and a half minutes they hadestablished as enough for everything to go down smoothly.

“How are you feeling?” Louis asks out of the blue, voice echoing through the room, the emptiness and high ceilings of it not helping.

“I’m alright,” Harry answers, cringing at the way it all sounds so false. This is not what they want to tell each other, or at least not what Harry wishes he were saying now that he’s finally got Louis on his own again. These days of planning have been nothing more than awkward one liners and silence between them, which makes it all the harder to answer the stupid question with a noncommittal answer, rather than what’s really going through his mind.

“It’ll all be fine,” Louis says and Harry can’t tell wether it’s supposed to reassure him in the least convincing way ever, to make Louis feel better, or to just fill the silence. Either way, it’s not something Harry can easily reply to so he just nods, praying that the clock ticks down faster. It proves how bad things really are with Louis, the fact that Harry would rather go face people who want to use him to experiment (and could very possibly kill him) rather than stand here in unpleasant silence.

A couple more seconds pass in the same way, Louis flickering in and out of sight while Harry deeply analyzes every wall in the room (they’re all plain white which makes it an incredibly interesting experience, really). It’s sort of unfair that he can’t use his power to distract himself right now like the others have been doing, since he’s been trying very hard not to read Louis’ thoughts in particular, knowing that it can’t be helpful for anyone.

Finally, he sees Louis pop into sight for the last time, follows him as he heads towards the door,the relief of this torture being over washing over Harry.. Still, Louis seems to stall for a second, which allows Harry to go in front of him, taking a few steps out of the room and towards the hall that will mean the official start of their part of the plan. He’s got himself into the mindset for it, finally, knows that yeah, scary things are about to go down but he’s got his power and his team and knows that together, they can do it.

Breathing sped up and heart thumping in his chest, Harry’s about to take the final steps out into the street and onto the lab when he hears Louis call out. Turning around in confusion, Harry has about a second to process Louis being right in front of him before he’s being pulled into a kiss, tan hands gripping the back of his neck strongly, fingers tightening on his hair. The wet drag of Louis’ lips over his somehow slows things down so that there’s only this moment on Harry’s mind, the way Louis is warm and flush next to him, the desperate flicks of his tongue and roughness of his lips on Harry’s. He’s about to respond, clutch Louis tighter, really savour this moment, when it’s suddenly over, cold air rushing onto Harry’s face, forcing his eyes open.

“Just,” Louis breathes out, still close enough for Harry to see the meaning in his eyes, blue and so, so caring, “be careful, yeah?”

Harry nods, lost for words as Louis lets him go and exits the building. There’s confusion threatening to cloud every thought of his, but Harry pushes it away and follows Louis knowing that in order to get answers, they need to survive this. It’s game time now, no matter how hot he feels from the kiss, they have to get this done first.

The street they exit to is deserted this time of the day, the only sounds coming from their quick footsteps and the occasional faraway honk of a car. Staying by the shadows, Harry follows Louis onto one of the side-streets until the building comes in sight, the mere glance of it sending shivers down Harry’s spine. Last time he was here was due to a kidnapping for experiments to be done on him, and the memory of being strapped to a chair while Marcus loomed over him settles an uneasy weight on his stomach. Harry hates the idea of other teens like him living through that right now and wants nothing more than to speed-forward this whole process until the end when they all go home to be happy forever, a thought that makes his steps faster.

Louis stops a hundred meters away from the building, holding up a hand so that Harry halts too. When their eyes meet, Louis motions for Harry to wait and runs closer to the building, turning himself invisible as he gets closer. Not being able to see anything, Harry stays put, assuming that Louis is just checking for any guards. Seemingly satisfied, he pops back into vision and motions for Harry to follow, which he does until they’re both standing in front of the door that will take them straight into the hell they’re facing.

Then, Louis points to his head several times while Harry tries to understand what he means, until it dawns on him: _Louis wants him to read his mind._ Nodding, Harry concentrates on letting his power run free from the cage he’s put it in, and immediately feels the strong attraction his power has for Louis’ thoughts.

_Has Liam given you the signal yet?_

It comes loud and clear, should be embarrassing how attuned the deepest part of him is to Louis, and Harry gives a quick shake of the head, not having received it.

_Fuck, okay, we’ll just wait then, there are no cameras on this area anyways._

Harry feels useless as he nods again, but once Louis gives his back to him in order to be on the lookout, he focuses on keeping his mind open for Liam. There’s a lot of radio silence coming through, though he can tell a very faint hint of frustration around the edges, not quite strong enough to flood his brain yet but still there, making Harry wonder.

Then, out of nowhere, Liam’s voice shoots through Harry’s brain, unavoidable and loud as he has told him they needed to be for Harry’s power to pick up this far away.

_Cameras deactivated, but more people than we thought._

The signal is followed by a mental image of what must be the control room, a screen showing Marcus on an office momentarily startling Harry.

_That’s the second floor. We’ll take care of it as soon as we finish here_

As soon as Liam’s done Harry focuses and manages to send an _‘okay’_ straight into Liam’s thoughts for confirmation as he gives Louis a thumbs up. Louis then gives a few steps back and launches himself at the door, which squeaks and gives in, breaking and giving them easy access.

Harry’s surprise at the display of strength must have been loud enough for his power to unwillingly broadcast it, as Louis spares him a smirk while he puts his hand through the wood and lets them in.

 _It’s an old building, Haz, this door’s like cardboard now_  his power picks up, Harry’s face heating up at having his observations noticed, but then they’re actually inside the building so Harry’s got more important things to care about, namely the five people that have turned to them upon their entrance.

Louis is gone in a second, his whole body disappearing as Harry goes into overdrive, mentally pushing himself so that he picks every guard’s thoughts, senses more than can see the first one lunging at him. Harry successfully avoids him. While practicing with Niall, Harry discovered that every person thinks their moves before they act, so he can easily predict every move the burly man makes, allowing him to be prepared. Harry reaches back for a spare chair and hits him on the head with it so that he can focus on the other ones, their thoughts pressing into Harry’s brain too. It’s not a pleasant experience, watching someone crumple into the ground unconscious because of you while also getting the phantom traces of their physical pain but since they’re mindless security paid to protect terrible people, so Harry doesn’t feel too bad.

He takes care of the next two in the same way, dodging the kicks and snatching up a gun before the guard can reach for it, throwing it far without even thinking. They’re not going to actually kill these people, just knock them out so that they can get to the talents being held here, which is easier said than done. Harry can hear Louis’ grunts along with the guards as he watches them get hit out of the corner of his eye. It looks like they’re being attacked by air but it’s actually a full blown Louis on a fighting rampage. Harry swears thin air has never been this hot.

When the first five guys are done, Louis appears again, face flushed and hair ruffled as he locks eyes with Harry.

“Well done babe, now come on,” he instructs before taking off again in such a quick pace that Harry can’t even process the fact that Louis has just called him babe again, let alone wonder about what it means. All his mind is taking in are the surroundings as he begins to question how the other boys must be doing. The plan involves each of the two groups on their own, but it doesn’t mean Harry can’t be bothered by the eerie silence.

 _This way_ Louis thinks, pointing to the right before turning. Harry follows him assuredly, knowing that he’s been studying the layout for weeks and is guiding them in the right direction. The holding cells are all on this floor as far as Harry can remember, and the off-white walls bring up something in his memory that screams for him to get the hell away, so he’s only further assured.

At that time, a foreign stream of thoughts gets picked up by Harry’s power, so he reaches out and grabs Louis, stopping him on his step.

_Where the hell is Carl? He was supposed to replace me five minutes ago, the lazy bastard!_

“There’s a guard around the corner, he’s in charge of six rooms, two of which have people in them,” Harry whispers so as to not divert his power to Louis, focusing all of it on digging through the guard’s mind, seeing through his eyes in order to get a good idea of what’s really going on.

“I’ll go,” Louis whispers back, turning invisible so that the next thing Harry knows, he’s getting feelings of surprise followed by pain and finally silence. Knowing it's now safe to follow, Harry does and finds Louis already peering into a room, half his body through the door frame and out of sight.

Getting the cue, and forcing himself not to stare at Louis' bum, Harry pulls open the door to his right. It reveals a young girl about fifteen years old, soft features and long hair making the fact that she's unconscious much more creepy. It does explain why Harry hasn't picked up her thoughts though, and as he rounds the table and begins working on the knots that keep her bound to the chair, Louis walks in.

"Is she alive?" He bluntly asks, Harry momentarily looking up from the knots he's working on to fix him a stare.

"Of course she is," Harry replies, not wanting to think about finding dead people in the same spot he'd occupied a few months ago. "She's just unconscious, we'll have to carry her out."

"That's fine, these are the only holding rooms in the building, so we finish up here and we're done with the talents," Louis says, a wave of relief passing through Harry. One less thing to think about, then.

Louis then exits the room, Harry picking out his thoughts as he goes through the rest of the doors. There's a spark of surprise and then amusement, though Harry doesn't dig deeper, focuses instead on hauling up the girl and carrying her out. She's not too heavy, but Harry hasn't really been working out, so he sends a quick thought to Louis in order to get him to hurry.

“All done,” Louis says, walking out into the hallway with a young man hiding behind him. Harry peers at him curiously but holds his power back, knowing the last thing the poor guy needs is someone prodding at his brain.

“Tom, this is Harry,” Louis introduces him, Harry unable to do much but smile with his hands being occupied and ability to use his voice questionable with the force he's using to hold the girl up.

“He’ll help me get you out of here," Louis helpfully tacks on, seeing as they could spare the misunderstandings today.

Tom doesn’t do much else, merely follows them as they backtrack out of the building the same way they came, relief intensifying in Harry every time they round the corner and find no new guards standing where they’ve taken down the ones while entering. Once they get out the door, Harry catches Tom eying the street intensely, can’t ignore the way his brain catches the urges to run.

“You’re free to go,” Harry tells him, wanting to get this done so that they can go back in and help the other guys. “Just wake her up before you do, please,” he asks, gently laying the girl down.

“Things will get ugly around here, so go as far away as you can,” Louis jumps in, eyes meeting Harry’s for a second before pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “Call this number if you ever want answers.”

Harry can’t help but laugh at the cliche sound of it, can picture Louis fitting perfectly as the sexy villain in a spy movie, even goes as far as projecting the thought onto him for a quick laugh. Louis simply rolls his eyes at him, though Harry’s sure there’s some fondness behind it.

“Okay, let’s go,” Louis orders again, tugging at Harry’s arm before running back into the building.

“Good luck!” Harry tells Tom before turning around and following Louis back in, ready for the next part.

 _Get me a status on the boys_ Harry’s power picks up, and he immediately gets on it, his own worries on the issue pushing his power out until he feels Liam on the edge of it, his thoughts a ghost dancing around but not letting themselves be read.

“Come on,” Louis urges as they tread along a deserted hallway, the sounds of their footsteps echoing softly.

“I’m trying,” Harry hisses back, the mild annoyance that sprouts up pushing his power further until he gets _it_. Liam’s brain is going a thousand miles per hour, thoughts going by so fast Harry can barely comprehend anything the second they flood his mind, momentarily disorienting Harry. He hasn’t had a mind this busy to practice on ever, but a mere glance at the expectant look on Louis’ face makes Harry redouble his efforts until he’s suddenly in a room full of guards, Niall throwing punches to his left and Zayn’s grunts rhythmically puncturing his line of thinking.

“They’re swamped with guards,” Harry informs Louis, mild panic seeping into his words as they both stop in their tracks. This is not how the plan was supposed to go, not at all, and the mere thought of it turning out like the last time kicks Harry’s breathing into overdrive, chest rising increasingly often with sharp breaths of panic.

“What are we gonna do? What about the plan?” He can’t help but ask, hating how his voice wavers at the end.

Louis turns around and forcefully grabs his shoulder, eyes locking into Harry’s. There’s a flame he’s never seen before there, dancing dangerously amongst the blue.

“Stop freaking out and listen to me Harry,” Louis says, fingers digging forcefully into Harry as he speaks, words cutting through the scared mess of thoughts. “I need you to focus, okay?” He pauses long enough for Harry to take a deep breath and ascent, mind still jumbled but the knowledge that he’ll do anything Louis asks intact.“Ask Liam what’s going on,” Louis instructs, eyes never leaving Harry’s.

Taking another calming breath, Harry agrees and closes his eyes. He hates missing Louis’s beautiful blue ones but knows he needs to really concentrate at the moment.

Liam’s still thinking a thousand miles per hour, the adrenaline kick speeding up Harry’s heart as well with how intense it comes through, fear mixed with small bursts of triumph joining in. It’d be impossible to dig through and find the information himself with how much of it is being processed by Liam, so he settles on doing exactly what Louis asked, no shortcuts. It’s harder to force a thought into the stream of Liam’s own ones than Harry thought, but when he does, the gratification is instantaneous, Liam’s consciousness slowing down for the second it takes him to realize what Harry’s doing.

 _You guys okay?_ Is the first thing Liam thinks, completely disregarding Harry's question and following it by a couple of fight moves as a guard apparently approaches him again.

 _We're fine,_ Harry assures him, touched by how much affection surfaces in Liam at the question though pushed by the circumstances to speed up.

_What’s going on? We’re done with the talents already._

As soon as Harry finishes pushing his thought into Liam’s head, a new vibe makes his way into his power’s field, a foreign yet somehow familiar mind revealing itself to Harry. Thinking it’s a guard, Harry dismisses it in order to get what Liam thinks next, a worried thought reverberating in Harry’s head loudly.

 _Guards saw us and called everyone in here, fuck._ The thought is interrupted by a series of punches, a flashing image of Zayn throwing a guard against the ceiling forcefully accompanying it. _We can manage, but god knows where Marcus is._

When Harry opens his eyes to relay the information, Louis is staring at him intensely, eagerness rolling off him in waves.

“They’ve got it covered, but he’s got no idea where Marcus is,” Harry informs him, wincing at the way Louis swears and punches the wall in frustration.

“We need to find him before he gets out,” Louis sentences, shaking his head to clear it and meeting eyes with Harry again, the determination that had been lost slowly seeping back into them. Harry’s stomach drops in anticipation, dread pooling in his gut because he knows what Louis is about to say.

“I’m going after him,” Louis announces, confirming Harry’s suspicion of a terribly stupid plan and thus erasing every trace of Liam from his mind.

“You can’t do that, Louis, be reasonable,” Harry argues, hating the way he can sense Louis’ slow development of the idea, how good his power says it sounds to him while Harry hates it with all his soul. It’s just plain stupid, nevermind the fact that it might not even work, and Harry’s not about to watch him run off to his death.

“There’s no other choice Harry, wake up! We need to end this now," Louis snaps back at him, the fact that they haven’t got much distance at all between them made obvious now that their breathing is getting heavier. Both their chests are pounding, bodies tensing up for the same fight but against different people.

“If he escapes, god knows what he’ll do next,” Louis tries to reason, and Harry can both feel and see it, the way the idea is being cemented into his head, every bit of his need to always be the saviour and residual guilt from past confrontations telling him it’s a good idea.

“Louis, it’s-”

"Find him," Louis interrupts, the brusque order is accompanied by his piercing blue eyes.

"No way, you're not doing this alone," Harry tells him, hands shaking and stomach flipping, body physically hating the idea as well.

"I have to!" Louis borderline shouts, face slowly turning red with frustration as one of his hands fly up to tug at his hair.

"No you don't," Harry shoots back, every bit of the hurt he's been feeling these past few weeks pouring into his words. "You want to play the hero and save everyone but real life isn't like that, Louis. You're just being selfish and stupid."

There's a pause in which neither of them speak, Harry out of surprise that he's just said that and Louis stunned at the fact that he has.

"Take that back, Harry."He doesn't think he's ever heard so much malice put into a tone, nevermind alongside the deep current of hurt he's getting from Louis, which does nothing to help him get out the rest of what needs to be said.

"I won't," Harry states, standing his ground whole hating the way it deepens Louis' scowl, face contorted into an ugly shape Harry wishes to never see repeated. "You spew all this shit about not being able to concentrate and needing to be alone, but you just end up hurting everyone around you who actually cares, Louis."

He stutters as he tries to interrupt but Harry doesn't let him; he can't risk stopping the flood of words that need to be said in fear they never will be again.

"Me loving you has changed fuck all about today, so just stop yeah?"Harry doesn't realise what he's just said until Louis' eyes widen in surprise, mouth falling open as a disbelieving question falls out of it.

"You love me?"

And then, because the universe hates Harry and he's been ignoring the flashing signals of his power, the skin prickling voice he wishes to never hear again interrupts them.

"Hello boys."

It’s Marcus, standing on the other side of the hallway. He is surrounded by three guards and a girl in a hoodie. Harry doesn’t recognize her but her presence causes Louis to tense up unexpectedly.No member from the two groups is moving, Harry and Louis frozen in the spot, disbelieving and borderline screwed. These must be the only guards left in the building, which means that if they’re done here it’s finished forever, but they’re also two against five, a realization that pumps fear into Harry.

“Marcus,” Louis merely acknowledges, completely unfazed to the eye but planning and calculative underneath, his mind figuring out what to do next.

It’s like a game of chess, each team knowing the capabilities of the other but everyone waiting for the first move, the sudden strike that will turn the standoff into a battlefield.

_I’ll create a distraction and you run, okay?_

Harry’s head turns swiftly to his side at the thought, finding Louis already staring at him, a stern resolve about him that scares him. It would be a suicidal plan, and they both know it, the fact that Louis would even propose it heartwarming but terribly terrifying at the same time.

_No way, we’re doing this together._

Harry sends that thought with all the force he can muster, has it take up a big enough space in Louis’ mind that he won’t fight it. There’s no scenario in which he’ll just leave without Louis, and the sooner they establish that, the better.

“Funny to see you boys here,” Marcus says, his demeanor still amused and detached like last time, the way Harry hated. Goosebumps erupt everywhere on his skin because of it.

“If I remember correctly, you were quite desperate to leave last time, Harry,” Marcus comments, laughing dryly at the end of his sentence, his entourage smiling tauntingly around him.

_Harry, please, just go!_

“Well, I don’t really fancy being tied to a chair,” Harry responds out loud, keeping his voice stable. Who knows how long this will hold until they all erupt into a fight, and the precious balance allows for them to prepare, so they’ve got to be careful about it.

_No Louis, we can do this, come on._

Harry can tell how much Louis hates that idea, feels the fear it causes in him, the uncertainty he hates mixed with loathing. Still, he’s not going to back down. They’re here, they’re together and they will end this like that.

The tension in the room escalates by the second, guards fidgeting and Louis practically bouncing in his place as Marcus and Harry eye each other, both measuring strengths, and the possible outcomes to this. Harry shifts his focus from Louis to Marcus now that his staying is clear, forces his power to reach out into that terrible mind and grasp it.

It’s hard to penetrate, Marcus’ mind, most likely due to some protective training, and as Harry’s power searches for holes in his armour to sink into, he feels the exact moment the waiting time is over.

“As much as I’d love to stay and chat, your little group has caused more than enough damage, so I think we’re done here,” Marcus declares, and the second he does, all hell breaks loose.

Louis turns invisible in a second, Harry bracing himself for the two guards that are headed straight from him, entering the mind of the first as the second is struck by the unseeable force of Louis. Marcus and the girl are just standing there, not deeming the dirty fight worthy of joining just yet, so Harry focuses on the guard, eludes both blows and delivers one himself, hitting him straight in the stomach. It’s a testament to how well they’re trained that the guard barely reacts to it, worry beginning to bloom in Harry. He’s got this, is skirting around every attack aimed at him, but if these personal guards of Marcus’ are this resistant, it’s not going to end well, or soon enough.

Louis cries out in that moment, forcing Harry to look away from the guard he's fighting and towards that general direction, where the second guard is holding an invisible something in mid-air. Harry doesn’t even need to stretch his power to sense Louis’ pain with how strong it is, and the onset of it over Harry intensifies everything, mind nearing on his guard with such sudden strength that his power penetrates the mind of him to a depth he’s never experienced before.

Harry can see each individual thought and the motivations behind him, practically feeling everything the guard is. The world is advancing outside of the connection he’s established but it’s all muffled to Harry’s ears; it’s just him and the guards mind as he shuts down each and every one of the parts that tell him to fight and thus the guard stops, dropping his arms and looking around uselessly. Just to make sure, Harry implants one thought into the deepest parts of his brain, telling him to go far and never come back, forget everything about this place.

When the guard follows his orders and hastily runs out of the building, Harry regains his sense of hearing, noticing now Marcus’ outraged cries and the other guard in a lockdown position, holding something in between his arms with difficulty. Harry’s trying to get a grip on what’s going on when he gets it, Louis’ swears coming from the same place as the struggling guard holding what just _looks_ like thin air.

The girl in the hoodie is stepping forwards now, Marcus beckoning her closer as the guard guides Louis towards them, no attention paid to Harry who looks over the scene in disgust, blood soaring in his ears. Reaching out to Louis’ mind desperately, Harry gets images of this girl before, fire engulfing her arms as a younger Liam evades it, a young man Harry doesn’t know lying helpless on the floor as the girl gets closer and closer until- _oh._ It’s the memory of Adam’s death, the day five guys became four and the day Louis’ obsession with protection was born, and Louis is relieving it, old pain mixed with current physical hurt, and yet what Harry feels isn’t that but something completely different.

It’s agonizing pain and it’s not Louis’ or that of his memory, it’s the phantom idea of Louis being in Adam’s spot that is causing it, the image of Louis being the one on the floor as the girl gets closer, fire burning all up her arms and eyes as well while she delivers the fatal blow. Harry’s mind is making up the image, but reality slowly begins to mirror it, Harry lifting his head to find Louis quite visibly slumped over in defeat, Marcus smiling devilishly at his impending triumph.

Louis’ voice suddenly interrupts it all, his _I’m so sorry Haz_ loaded with grief and regret, all that’s coming through Harry’s power being utter defeat and disappointment.

It’s the last straw Harry needs to explode, pent up emotions, power, and reality becoming so much that he just detonates, power expanding  everywhere aggressively. He’s never done anything like this, and yet he’s absolutely invading every mind in the room, channeling every bit of his grief onto others, rendering them useless for the seconds he needs them to, world slowing down to seconds. They’re all reliving that, the exact scene that causes it all, Louis slumped over Harry’s arms, burnt up into nothing, and it blinds them the same way it did Harry.

Taking up the opportunity, Harry sprints over, doesn’t even process what he’s doing and acts on basic instincts as he kicks the guard in the nuts as hard as he can. This prompts him to let go of Louis, who Harry doesn’t even look at, turning towards the real enemy as he implants the same fleeing thought into the second guard’s mind.

Now he’s got a stunned Louis behind him and a flame thrower in front, odds not really in his favour; the same stand off as in the beginning but the end, whatever it may be, so close.

“Oh, how pathetic,” Marcus chooses to say in that moment, a panting Harry eyeing him carefully. “Very Romeo and Juliet, I’ve got to say. Same story, same ending, terribly-”

His words are cut off by Louis, who launches himself at Marcus, a surprised Harry kicking into  gear a second later when he sees the girl’s arms light up dangerously. His power has been unlocked, fueled by the pure hatred he feels toward this woman who he doesn’t even know, the possibilities she entails revolting enough for Harry to do what he thought unspeakable. He overrides each and every thought she has except the one he plants in her mind with such a ferocity, it’s all she can think.

_Kill Marcus, but don’t touch Louis._

Harry stands back and merely watches as the fire erupts all over the girl’s arms, concentrating into a ball that flashes for a second before hitting its target. Harry looks away a second before he hears Marcus scream out, the reality of what he’s just done hitting him so hard he promptly screws his eyes shut and thinks of anything else. He doesn’t catch Louis’ battling the spent girl but he doesn’t have to, however, because she doesn’t even fight back, too entranced by the thought Harry put into her to stop Louis even as he points Marcus’ gun to her brain and pulls the trigger.

The sound echoes ominously over the building, and it hits Harry that this is it, it’s done. They’re free now, and as the realization fully seeps into his brain, he allows himself to slump against the nearest wall, exhausted as he watches Louis come over, spent and panting and all Harry wants in this exact moment.

“Oh my god, Harry are you okay?” Louis asks, crouching down to his level, Harry not even needing to use his, now drained, power to see how much he cares.

“I love you,” is all Harry answers, face breaking out into a grin. He’s just pulled off a crazy ass plan, and yet saying that out loud feels better than anything else today, even their victory.

Louis gives him a watery smile before fixing his gaze on the floor, blush colouring high on his cheeks as he plays with his fingers.

“You said as much, you crazy idiot,” he says anyways, shaking his head at Harry in disbelief, fondness radiating off him in waves.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Louis continues.

“I saved you,” Harry reminds him dopily.

“You did.”

“Does that mean we’re done with excuses now?” Harry asks hopefully. Battling possible death really puts things into perspective, and the only thing that would make this all finally okay would be to walk out of here with Louis on his arm.

“Hell yeah,” Louis breathes out before his lips crash into Harry’s, the residual adrenaline prompting them both to sink into it, Louis’ hands tied up in Harry’s hair and hearts never slowing down.

There’s something Louis still wants to say though, Harry can feel it, so they pull apart, Louis’ eyes meeting Harry’s in full seriousness.

“I’m never going to push you away again, I swear.”

“Good,” Harry agrees, high off the idea.

“After all, the market for mind-reading bodyguards is awfully small, really,” Louis jokes, mouth curving up into his teasing smile that’s all pointy teeth and loveliness. “I would never find a replacement.”

“Shut up,” is all Harry says before pulling him closer again, circling his arms around him so that he stays forever and ever next to him.

*

“We don’t _have_ to do this, you know.” Louis reminds from his place on the driver’s seat, car stopped in front of an innocuous house on a quiet Cheshire street.

Harry sighs, hair already messed up from all the times he’s run his hand through it out of sheer nerves. “I’ve already told her we were coming,” he reasons. “Plus the sooner we get it done the closer we are to living like a normal uni couple like we want.”

Louis eyes him skeptically, the same look he gives Harry whenever they have this type of conversation.

 _So terribly normal_ Louis thinks, loud enough for Harry to catch unwillingly. He’s been keeping his power use minimum while around the boys, not wanting them to feel invaded or always watched, though he still uses it with Louis sometimes. It’s awfully useful when you’re in a room full of people who already think your relationship is ‘too cute to the point it’s gross’ (thanks Liam), or for telepathic sexting which is quite a perk, as proved by many successful trials.

“All I’m saying is I want my mom to meet you before we move in together and truly get on with our lives,” Harry explains. “I’m just kinda worried about it.”

Louis takes Harry’s hand and laces it with his, thumb caressing the skin soothingly.

“It’ll be okay babe,” he reassures Harry, his smile beautiful as it spreads across his lips. “Parents love me.”

"Everyone loves you," Harry huffs out, fixing his boy a pointed stare, daring him to oppose.

“Well, have you seen me?” Louis jokes, ever the one to know how to make Harry relax, roll his eyes and pop up a smile.

“Yeah, can’t blame them,” Harry agrees, loving the way Louis tries to laugh it off but his face gives him away, tips of his ears turning bright pink.

“You just say that because you love me,” Louis tries to counter anyways, body slowly leaning in closer over the dashboard as he purses his lips obstinately.

“That I do,” Harry says, gaze trained on the lovely blue of Louis’ eyes. “Love you more than anything.”

“Love my _bum_ more than anything, more like,” Louis teases, ever the one to give Harry a hard time about his love for Louis’ ass. It’s just perfect, what can he say, and it’s not like Louis even seems to care, the attention Harry gives to it more than welcome.

“That too,” Harry agrees.

Louis bites his lip to keep his smile in and shoves Harry lightly, voice light and teasing as he speaks. “Can’t believe I’m in love with a sappy weirdo.”

And it’s odd, that Harry’s never been happier than right now, in a car parked in front of a house he hasn’t visited in forever, with the love of his life bantering away, but he wouldn’t change it for a thing. Powers, crazy lab organizations and group of wannabe superheroes and all, it’s truly been the best year.

“ _Your_ sappy weirdo,” Harry ends the conversation with, closing up the gap over the console and pecking Louis on the lips before reaching for the car door, mischievous smile taking place.

“Race you to the front door!” He announces, Louis’ indignant shout punctuated the slam of the door, both of them bursting out into a laugh as they head towards the final step in their twistedly long journey. It definitely hasn’t been easy, but boy was it worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you wish to, you can find me at [Latitta](latitta.tumblr.com)  
> Rebloggable fic [post](http://latitta.tumblr.com/post/128819492352/dont-turn-away-now-hl-if-a-year-ago-youd)  
> 


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